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UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



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WITH THE POUSSE CAFE. 



BY WM. TOD HELMUTH, M.D. 

Humanity. A Poem. 

A Miscellaneous Collection of Prose 
AND Verse. 

Scratches of a Surgeon. 

A Steamer Book, or a City on the Sea. 



> ,^ n 



With the Pousse Cafe 



OToUcction of Post J3ranbial Ikrscs. 



WM. TOD HELMUTH, M.D. 



Vale AT Quantum Valere Potest'' 



PHILADELPHIA: 
BOERICKE & TAFEL. 

I 892. 



:v OP CD'r^r 



FEE 12 189? j/ ; 



^^' 



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^ 



JJrcfatorti Note. 



These verses have been inspired by an 
.Esculapian Muse. They are all medical in 
character, and have all appeared in print. They 
are collected now with the hope that they may 
recall those pleasant re-unions at \\hich they 
w ere given, and which from time to time serve 
to lighten the responsible labor of the busy 
doctor. 

To those Avho now see these rhym&s for 
the first time I \Aould respectfully advise the 
sustained effort of getting into " an after-dinner 
condition " before criticism is attempted. 

WiM. Tod Helmuth. 

Bar Hakeor, 

September, 1891. 



Contents. 



PAGE 

To THE Reader by Way of Explanation, . . 9 
An Error IN Diagnosis, . . . . • • n 
The Story of a City Doctor, . . . .15 

Surgery versus Medicine, 24 

The Doctor Woman, or How I was Cured by 

x\ Female Physician, 28 

The Doctor's Dream, 34 

Ode to the Bacillus, 47 

Commencement Memories, 50 

My First Patient, 56 

Dogmatic Doctors, 64 

An Alumni Poem, 7^ 

Twenty Years Ago, 81 

The Harmony of the Medical Profession, . 87 
A Ballad of the Sixteenth Century, . 91 

Present Status of the Medical Profession, . 96 
My First Introduction to Surgery, . . 99 

How I Became A Surgeon, 105 

A Letter from Alma Mater, . . • "3 

Anticipation, Realization, Retrospection, . 119 

Our New Materia Medica, 121 

Minutes of A Medical Meeting 125 

Prologue for a New Medical Journal, . .137 



GIVEN WITH THE POUSSE CAFE. 



TO THE READER BY WAV OF EXPLANATION. 



The great Apollo, radiant and strong, 
Was God of Physic, e'en while God of Song^ 
Disdaining neither ))iortar nor scalpel. 
While fr 0771 his lyre i7/ipassio7ied love strains fell. 
So may a Doctor-, hn7iil)le though he be, 
Aspire azvhile to flights of ?7iinst7-elsy ; 
Forget his p07vders a7id his pills discard : 
BecoTne at once a 7)iedicated ha7-d. 
Whose nu77ibers. /lowi7ig s7/ioothly as they 7vill, 
Exhale both N'nx a7id Bellado/i)ia still. 

The 7t'i7iged horse sprang fro77i Medusa's blood. 

Which iveir d fro77i zuounds by Perseus 77iade a flood , 

The7-efore a Su7geon, by this right divine, 

May deal with dactyls iji heroic litte, 

And, 7vhispering tip the glades of Phocis, 7iiay 

Ask aid for his hexa77ieters to-day. 

A7id if the Muse should /« these pages tell 
Of occult truths, professiottal, xuhich dwell 
Withi7i the sacred p7-ecincts of the c7-aft, 
Restrain vour Judg7)ient — thi 77k the poet daft. 



AX ERROR IN DIACxXOSIS. 

A TRUE STORY IX RHYME. 



Response to the toast ''The City Doctor,'' given 
at the banquet of the American Institute of Homoe- 
opathy, at Deer Park, Md., June, 1884. 



T FEEL my brain is whirling now, 
-*■ And can a year have pass'd, 
When round a festive board like this, 

We met together last ? 
Oh : yes, the master of the feast 

Has set another toast. 
And bade me summon to my aid 

The little wits I boast ; 
He says the "City Doctor" great 

A proper theme would be — 
For one of guileless innocence. 

Behold the same in Me ! 

Of the genus " City Doctor " 
Are species not a few ; 



12 A.¥ ERR OR IN DIA GNOSIS. 



There are many arrant humbugs. 

There are others learn'd and true. 
The over-weening egotist 

Will tell you all he knows. 
Some flourish on society, 

And some — depend on clothes. 
One city man 's an oculist, 

A second treats the ear, 
A third devotes himself to lungs, 

And curious sounds doth hear: 
A fourth with his laryngoscope 

Will see your glottis quiver, 
While many men the kidneys love, 

And many more the liAer. 
Some specialists prefer the joints, 

A few the brain and nerves. 
Some spray away at old catarrhs 

With hope that never swerves ; 
Some think a man in buttons. 

A coach and pair to drive. 
May serve in lieu of wisdom 

And thus expect to thrive. 
But 'mid these varied callings all 

The man who heads the list 

Is that gentle finger'd ge — ni — us. 

The Gy — ne — col — o — gist ! — 



AN ERROR IN DIAGNOSIS. 



13 



He's such a charming fellow, 

So clever in his way ; 
He always thrives in cities — 

I meet him every clay. 
His rooms are over-crowded 

With ladies quite a host, 
And if he has a wife, they trust 

She'll soon give up the ghost. 

God bless the City Doctor fair, 

In all he has to do, 
And God have mercy on the souls 

Of all his patients too. 
Now, though these cultur'd gentlemen 

Are often good and true men, 
They are not quite infallible, 

Because, alas! they're human. 
They often make such grave mistakes, 

The Country Doctor wonders 
How men with such advantages 

Could make such awful blunders. 
But yet they do, so let me tell — 

For now I think it prudent. 
As all are dead — what happen'd once 

When 1 was quite a student. 



A A' ERROR IN DIAGNOSIS. 



But for this story let me choose 

A Httle easier Hne, 
And pray allow my ambling muse 

To steadier steps incline ; 
Then let old Pegasus exchange 

His easy, shuffling gait 
For one much more in unison 

With facts I now relate. 



THE S TOR Y OF A CITY DOC TOR. I 5 



THE STORY OF A CITY DOCTOR. 

Hail: Philadelphia, tho' quaker thou be, 
The birth day of medical honors to thee, 
In this country belongs; 't was thou caught the 

flame. 
That crossing the ocean from Englishmen came, 
And kindled the fires of wisdom and knowledge. 
Inspired the student, erected a college — 
First held a commencement with suitable state. 
In the year of our Lord, seventeen sixty-eight. 
A decade or two 'ere this work was begun — 
I think I may say, seventeen fifty-one — 
The Colonists, who were remarkably fond 
Of Benjamin Frankhn and old Doctor Bond 
(The one a Philanthropist well known to ftime. 
The other — Physician of excellent name), 
Adopted the counsel of Doctor and Sage, 
And in building a hospital soon did engage. 
It stands to this day in the City of Penn, 
And one hundred years had rolPd over it, when 
My story commences. Once more pray excuse 



1 6 THE S TOR J • OF A CI TV DOC TOR. 



The various flights of an uncontroird muse 

Who being unused to be held in the traces, 

Cares httle for dactyls and spondees and spaces ; — 

And so let her gallop along as she may, 

And tell how the hospital looks at this day. 

The old building stands, quite quaint in design, 

lietween Eighth and Ninth streets with frontage on 

Pine ; 
I see it this moment, when 1 as a youth, 
With eagerness searching for medical truth, 
Pass'd under its archways with other young men, 
And without e'en a look at the statue of Fenn, 
Which stands in the grass plot as stiff as can be, 
Took my place in the theatre where I could see 
O'er the heads of the fellows who sat under me. 

And here let me say, 

K'en at that recent day, 
That science though competent then to beguile 
The minds of most students, had not " put on style." 

A very few men 

Taught her principles then ; 
Instead of a hundred departments of knowledge, 
About six professors were found in each college. 
They taught of diseases and how they might kill us. 
But nobody dreamed of the potent bacillus. 



THE STORY OF A CITY DOCTOR. I 7 



We learned to prescribe and to bleed and to blister, 
But knew not of carbolic acid and Lister. 
Malaria potent, producing all ills, 
We called the "dumb ague," or more simply 

"chills;" 
We measured by ounces and scruples and drachms. 
And had not grown Frenchy with metres and grams. 

Yet strangely to tell, 

The patients got well ; 
For Nature, altho' the rude practices shocked her, 
Cured sick folk in spite of the dose and the doctor. 



One hospital morning, clear, frosty and bright, 
1 think 'twas October, — but am not sure quite. 

But be that as it may. 

As we wended our way 
Up the hospital steps, the fellows before us 
Were singing a song with a rollicking chorus. 
At this very moment I hear it ring out, 
'T is the old " du da day," half a song and half 
shout, 

'Mid the noise and the din 

A patient came in, 



THE STORY OF A CITY DOCTOR. 



So remarkably thin 
That the ends of his clavicles stuck throiij^^h his 
skin ; 

Like the point of a pin, 

Was his sharpness of chin; 
His eye on the left to his nose did incline. 
Not much, but perceptibly; \ery like mine. 

Then o'er the assembly a silence there came — 

The Professor had entered. 1 need not him name. 

He was prim and precise from his head to his toes, 

He wore a blue coat, with knee breeches and hose, 

A true city doctor in every degree, 

A specialist, too, as you '11 presently see. 

He looked at the patient a moment quite bland. 

Then taking a stethoscope gently in hand. 

His eye o'er the students expressively ran. 

And with grave intonation the lecture began : 

"The name of this patient in full is James More, 

" A mason by trade, and his age twenty-four. 

" 1 find by referring to this anamnesis, 

" His symptoms are those of Tubercular Phthisis. 

" Consumption is plain from his cough and his 

sputum ; 
" He looks as if dried bv secale cornutum. 



THE S TOR V OF A CITY DOC TOR. 1 9 

" His previous hist'ry, however, I '11 give, 

" (Hear that cough — I 'm afraid the poor fellow 

can't live.) 
" Quite eaily in life from a blow on his skull, 
" His mental perceptions began to grow dull, 
" And shortly thereafter he happen'd to fall, 
"While laying some stones, from the top of a wall. 
" Then often for hours in silence he'd sit, 
" With a slight /t'///-///^?/, till he fell in a fit, 
" The doctors — the country ones — claimed it to be 
" A perfect example of E — pi — lep — sy. 
" Then came other symptoms and dreadful ones, 

too — 
" Megrain or horrible tic douloureux, 
" With pain which to suicide oft would incline us ; 
" For when every branch of the Pes Anserinus 
"With agony quivers, and when the 'fifth pair' 
" Is the seat of most exquisite pain, I declare 
" It is better to die, than in agony live ; 
" For rural physicians no respite can give. 
" But here let me ask him a question or two. 
" When your face ached so badly, James, what did 

you do ? " 
James raised up his eyes and he hemm'd and he 

haw'd, 



20 THE STORV OF A CTTV DOCTOR. 

And said : " Plaze yer honor, Oi had 'em all drawed 
" And bolted the vittels Oi oughter had chaw'd. 
" Oi got the dyspepsie and grow'd mighty thin, 
" So went to a dentist and had him put in 
" A couple of teeth on a plate made of tin," 
"And did you improve then?" the doctor inquired. 
" Faix, no sir," he answered, " (^i almost expired. 
"The next afternoon Oi fell down in a fit, 
"And when Oi came to, me tongue it was bit. 
" Me father and me searched everywhere round — 
" Me tec til and the tin plate could ne'7'er he found. '^ 
" Enough," said the doctor ; " unbutton your vest." 
James did so. exposing the fraine of a chest, 
So sharp and so thin, we could see from our places. 
The heart beating fast in the fifth and sixth spaces. 
The curves of his ribs were like those of a cime- 

ter.— 
The doctor observing them, took his pleximiter 
(Spoke well of percussion, show'd how it was done 
Dy old Avenbrunner — seventeen sixty-one), 
Then on those ribs of that man laid it full. 
Tapped thrice with his fingers, look'd grave and 

said " Dull. 
"This sound in the third stage of Phthisis you '11 

find, 



THE STORY OF A CITY DOCTOR. 



" By careful percussion before and behind, 

" Accompanied often by thoracic pains 

" In the hnig parenchyma's contracted remains. — 

" Here is a spot gives a resonant sound ; 

" 'T is certain a vomica there may be found — 

" This with his thinness and expectoration 

" Will diagnose Phthisis, will solve the equation. 

" But still there are symptoms revealed by the ear — 

" 1 place on this stethoscope now and I hear 

" The cavernous breathing, remarkably clear ; — 

" While over the apex I think there will be 

" A sound known to experts as ' bronchophony,' 

" Below is a spot superficially local 

" Which gives to my ear a true ' fremitus vocal.' 

" Here is the ' buzzing amphoric ' and there 

" The ' tinkling metallic " is found with due care. 

" In the right lower lobe is a cavern of pus, 

" A symptom of still more importance to us 

" To aid in prognosis. — This Patient will die. 

" No power on earth can prevent it and I " 

The Professor stopp'd short, for a horrible cry 
Burst forth from the patient,- who sprang in the air 
With a gurgling noise in his throat and a stare 
Of his eyes that protruded, wild, glassy and red. 
And with lips all a-foam, he fell down like lead. 



THE STORV OF A CITY DOCTOR. 



His muscles of face were all horribly working, 
His limbs in convulsions were twisting and jerking, 
His face first grew li\id, then death-like and pale, 
From his throat came a sound twixt a bark and a 

wail ; 
He struggled and retched in a fearsome degree, 
In spasms so awful, — 't was dreadful to see. 
Again and again came the terrible cough ; — 
We thought each convulsion would carry him off. 
Till at last with an effort ne'er witnessed before. 
He spat something out of his mouth on the floor. 
The nurse pick'd it up with a curious grin — 
' Tiuas a couple of tcctJi on a plate made of tin. 
These teeth he had swallow'd and lodged in the 

pharynx, 
Making pressure direct on the wall of the larynx. 
And all of his symptoms, thus duly related. 
Yon '11 find under Stannum by Alien collated. 
The Doctor look'd up, but he look'd rather queer 
(The students at this time beginning to cheer), 
He put up his stethoscope into his pocket, 
And out of the lecture room shot like a rocket. 

The patient recover'd, although for his ills 

His chest had been blistered, and thousands of pills 



THE STORY OF A CITY DOCTOR. 



23 



He had swallow'd, with gallons of syrup of squills. 
And many years after, when I, an M.D., 
Went up to the hospital, who should I see 
(The theatre looking the same as of yore) 
But that very identical creature — James More. 

This story is true — 1 have witnesses here 
With heads all quite level and faculties clear. 
Who will vouch for this incident told you by me — 
If you do n't credit it, ask them and see. 

W^e all make mistakes, 't is true, more 's the pity. 
The man in the country, the man in the city, 
And often where highest attainments abound. 
The errors most grievous are sure to be found. 
The older I grow and the longer I live, 
I think the less certain opinions I give. 
And I try when 1 know one has made a mistake. 
To cover it up for sweet charity's sake. 
I know not what moment that something I do 
May call for a judgment, my brothers, from you ; 
Then let me, at that time, your leniency win — 
Remember the teeth on the plate made of tin. 



24 srj7(JEKi- 7's. medicim:. 



SrRr.KRV \'S. MKDICIXE. 

Pyiority hi a^r ami lieT't'lopnient claiiiieti for the f>laiHtiJ}'. 



Delivered at the banquet given at Delmonico's 
to the students and alumni of the New York Ho- 
ni(t;opathic Medical College, March 8. 1887. and 
also at the dinner given by the Knglish physicians 
to the International Congress, June. 1881, at the 
Criterion. London. 



T AM a surgeon, and in making this assertion 
-*■ "I'is my apolog) foi' doing what I can 
To set aside that undeserved aspersion 

That says, while tuedicinc is quite as old as man, 
Holding within its vast consideration 

All wisdom, learning, ethics, and decorum. 
That surgery is claimed, as is a poor relation. 

Being at best " the opprobrium mcdiconim." 

'Tis certainly a subject for humility, 
And one 'tis hard for doctors to endure. 



SURGERY 7>s. MEDICINE. 



25 



That they must own their utter inabihty 

In many cases to effect a cure ; 
And then, with shrugs and sighs, their patients 
urge on 

To give themselves their only chance for life 
By calling on the poor, forgotten surgeon, 

Who cuts and nn'es them with the dreaded knife. 

But as for age, I'll prove 'tis all a libel. 

(The statement's bold, but 1 could make it 
bolder) 
For on no less authority than the Bible 

I'll prove that surgery is surely older 
Than any form of med'cine whatsoever ; 

And having finished, will appeal to the majority. 
And have the point adjusted here forever, 

That '* surgery in age can claim priority." 

'Tis true the snake aroused the curiosity. 

And gave to Eve the apple fair and bright ; 
She ate, and with a fatal generosity 

Inveigled Adam to a luscious bite. 
That from that time disease and suffering came. 

Doctors were called upon to cure the evil ; 
The art of healing, then, with all its fame, 

Was at the first developed by the Devil. 



26 SURGERY vs. MEDICINE. 

Med'cine thus stands coeval with the sinning 

Of mother Eve, fair creature, though quite human, 
While noble surgery had its beginning 

/;/ Paradise before there was a woman. 
The facts are patent, and we all agree 

'Twas Satan laid on man the direful rod ; 
That doctors are the Dcvir s progeny , 

While surgeons come directly down from God I 

For thus we read (although the analgesia 

Of Richardson was then entirely unknown) 
Adam profoundly slept with aniusthesia, 

And from his thorax 7i>as removed a bone. 
This was the hrst recorded operation, 

(No doctor here dare tell me that I fib !) 
And surgery, thus early in creation. 

Can claim complete excision of a rib ! 

But this is nothing to the obligation 

The world to surgery must ever own. 
When woman, loveliest of the creation, 

Grew and developed from that very bone. 
Then lovesick swains began inditing sonnets, 

And Fashion talked with Folly by the way, 
Then came bulimia for becoming bonnets — 

Hereditary epidemic of to-day. 



SURGER V vs. MEDICINE. 2 7 

Then, too, began those endless loves and frolics 
That poets sing in soft and sweet refrains, 

Doctors grew frantic o'er infantile colics, 
Announced at midnight with angelic strains. 

7=- -^ * -H- 7f 

From this the world was peopled. So Doctors own, 
AVhile you lay claim to such superiority, 

That surgery, in the development of bone 
As well as age, can clearly claim priority. 

My task is done, and with my best endeavor 

I have essayed to vindicate my art ; 
So list my friends, ere friendly ties we sever. 

While waning moments bring the houf to part. 
Whatever land, whatever clime may hold you. 

Some time give honor to the bright scalpel, 
And when you recollect what I have told you, 

Remember me — 'tis all I ask. Farewell. 



28 THE DOCTOR M'OMAN. 



THE DOCTOR-WOMAN. (^R HOW I WAS 
CrRKl) BY A FKMALK rHVSIClAN. 



These verses were hrst delivered at the baiu|uet 
given to the American Institute of HomcL-opathy in 
Horticuhural Hall, lioston. 

They were afterwards published under the au- 
thorship of Aiken Hart, M.I)., and dedicated to 
" Thk S\vi:i:t Mmdk is who Al'sciltkd mv Tho- 
rax." 

Since that period they have been copied in several 
periodicals. 



Hic" Mri.ii.K, " H.i:( ' \'ik. 



T ONCE was sick, Oh 1 hea\ens, how I ached, 
^ My eye-balls bloodshot in their sockets roll'd, 
My skin was dry, my mouth and throat were baked, 
While up and down my back ran streaks of cold. 

Hu^e drops of perspiration bathed my head, 
I thought each moment it would split in twain ; 



THE DOCTOR WOMAN. 



29 



My spirits they were heavier than lead, 
My body rack'd with everlasting pain. 

Sometimes a cramp would bend me like a bow, 
And then I'd stretch like Goodyear's gum-elastic 

When suddenly a pain from depths below, 
Would shoot across the region " epigastric." 

And add to this. Oh I sad it is to tell, 

I had no wife, no child, no servant near me. 

Was stopping at a very poor hotel. 

And tried in vain to make the waiters hear me. 

I thought at length that I must surely die. 
So seized a boot-jack, lying on the floor, 

And with the little strength I had, let fly 
That useful implement against the door. 

A female Dutch domestic in the hall, 

Was rous'd at length by this tremendous clatter. 
And angrily responded to my call, — 

With " \'ell now mishter vot ish de matter ? " 

" Matter!" I cried, my patience lost entire, 
" I'm sick and dying, if you are but human," 

" Send for a Doctor, or 1 shall expire," 

" Oh I for a Doctor ; quick, a Doctor; woman.'* 



30 THE DOCTOR IVOMA.V. 



"Yah," roared she out, " a Doctor Voman, veil, 
" I sends you von right off" — away she sped, 

Then what my feelings were I dare not tell, 
As I sat shaking in my lonely bed. 

Then came the tread of feet along the floor, 

And with a voice quite loud enough for two men. 

That Dutch domestic opened wide the door. 

And grinning shouted, " Here's de Doctor 
\'oman." 

" The what," 1 cried, now in a sitting posture, 

" Madame," (1 drew the bed clothes closely to my 

chin) 
" There's some mistake, 1 think you must ha\e lost 

your 
"Way amid the halls and entries of the inn." 

" Oh ! no " (she had a charming voice), she said 
" I practice med'cine, surgery and so " 

I slid myself straight down into the bed 

And murmured fiiintly, 7'(-rr fiiintly, " (^h ! " 

I cast a furtive eye al^out the room 

There was the boot-jack lying by the door, 

A coat, a razor and an old whisk-broom. 
Were scattered helter-skelter on the floor. 



THE DOCTOR WOMAN. 3 I 

A card or two were underneath a chair, 

A half-smoked pipe was resting on the table, 

And horror ! in a corner over there, 
A large decanter with a silver label. 

But there shp: stood, a picture ; rosy cheeks, 

A clear blue eye whose depths were almost 
killing, 

Her lips were rubies, pouting when she speaks. 
With pearls of teeth without a speck of — filling. 

She took a chair and sat beside my bed. 
And placed her tiny hand upon my brow, 

And as she softly soothed my aching head, 

She sweetly whispered — " Arc you better noiu ? " 

" I — I — I — really think I do feel better," 

(She was so graceful, modest, fair and young), 

And ask'd so very sweetly if I'd let her 
Look for a moment at my horrid tongue. 

She w^ore a chignon, and a single curl, 
That twisted, sweetly to its very end, 

I thought she was a most enchanting girl, 
E'en to the curving of a graceful " bend." 



32 



THE DOCTOR WOMAN. 



" How is your heart?" she asked, "that fount of 
Hfe, 

Does palpitation e\'er break your rest ?" 
And then, — (this part I never told my wife,) 

She laid her head — /o listen on my breast. 

Forthwith the fever left me, and a thrill. 

Of life and health, went boundin<^ thro' niy veins, 

I never took, — I kept the little pill, 
She left as sure specific for my pains. 

My charmer left me, but 't must be confess'd, 

I anxious, wondered, " will she come again .^" 
But thought 'twas safer, as I lived out west, 
To start that evening by an early train. 

And when 1 told my wife how sick I'd been, 
The story of my suffering greatly shock'd her, 

1 told her "bout my pains, my aches, the Inn, 
I never mentioned uuich about the Doctor, 

Vet in my dreams, methinks I see her still, 

A noble sister of a famed Sorosis 
Discoursing on the virtues of a pill, 

If given after heart-felt, diagnosis. 



THE DOCTOR WOMAX. t^Z 

I hear her tell her feminine M.D.'s, 

If they would rise to fame and reputation, 

If ever call'd to treat a male disease 
Not to forget a gentle auscultation. 

Yes, in my dreams, I think I see ]ier still, 
Her gentle hand is on my aching brow, 

I feel a very convalescent thrill. 

And hear her murmur " Are you better now ? " 

And if I'm sick, in sorrow, or alone, 

What e'er the ailment or the torment be. 

Indeed, if but a /////,;• out of tone, 

I will — I swear it — alwavs send for SHE. 



" H/EC ScRiPSi Mixta Lachrymls et 

SUSPIRIIS." 



34 



THE DOC TOR'S DREA M. 



THE DOCTOR'S DREAM. 

" Many of thcui, to get a fee, will give pJiysie to 
every one that comes, lu/ien there is no caused 
Heurnius. 

" Xon ;niss//ra ens f em, nisi plena eruoris hint day 

" The phaiitasy alone is free, and his eommander, 
reasoii . " — Burton. 



Some portions of the following verses were re- 
peated at the banquet given by the homoeopathic 
physicians of Chicago to the Western Institute of 
Homoeopathy, at its first annual meeting, in May, 
1864. Other parts of the same poem were, by espe- 
cial request, recited at Cincinnati, at the entertain- 
ment there provided for the American Institute of 
Homoeopathy, at its re-organization in June, 1865. 
And again, with some alteration, at the " Chapter 
House," Buffalo, at the banquet given by the Erie 
County Homoeopathic Society in honor of the for- 
tieth semi-annual meeting of the New York State 
Homceopathic Medical Society, Sept. 1891. 



the doctor's dream. 35 

Prologue. 
/^■^H 1 great Apollo. God of Physic, bring 
^^ Thy gracious presence near us while we sing 
In strains that touch that highly favor'd art, 
That first Thou deign'st to erring man impart. 
Fair Juno, too — whose own especial might 
Auspicious proved to sacred marriage rite, 
O'ershade us now, and ere thou glid'st along. 
Drop us one feather to assist our song, 
And other spirits hover near, the while, 
To aid our efforts with approving smile. 
While we endeavor in a critic lay 
To sing 'bout doctors of the present day. 

When Shippen'^ first for stipulated fees. 

Taught physic's laws, and gave men their degrees, 

Ten was the number of aspiring youth 

Who anxious thirsted for the streams of truth. 

Scant \y^.s their number, j>r(?;//the knowledge given, 

And scant the patients whom they sent to heaven ; 

Scant were the mortals whom they cured of ills, 

* One of the first Medical Colleges in this country was organized 
by Dr. Shippen, of Philadelphia. From this grew the venerable 
University of Pennsylvania. The first class consisted of ten 
students. 



36 



THE DOCTOR'S DREAM. 



And scant the charges in their yearly bills. 
Mankind, in days of yore were not so blest 
With rheums and aches which moderns so infest. 
If ills o'ertook them, they must be endured, 
Or tea of herl)s the fretting patient cured. 

That " Iron Age," — reversing things of old, 
Has been converted to an Age of (iold. 
Ten thousand shutters now display a "tin," 
That tells the world " a Doctor" dwells witliin ; 
While countless boys, whose philanthropic mind 
Burns with desire to benefit mankind. 
Now yearly rush to bow before the shrine 
Where dwell the great of /Esculapian line. 
Pause — pause, ingenuous youth, and let there be 
One gleam of common sense 'mid verdancy ; 
Let not a tinsel'd stage, with gaudy glare. 
Allure your footsteps on — you know not where. 
The painted scene looks pleasantly to you, 
By light and shade, and t/is/a/ict' of the view. 
Behind 'tis dark, and drear, and damp, and cold. 
The cob-webs thick, the ragged canvas old, 
The beauteous actress is begrimed with paint — 
There's no reality — 'tis all a feint. 
So 'tis wjth Med'cine. Education's stream 



THE DOCTOR'S DREAM. 



37 



Once was so bright, that every ladened beam 
Of knowledge shone resplendent far and wide, 
From College prows that stemm'd the rippling tide. 
Now, every Doctor mans a separate craft — 
Crowds it with students thick, both fore and aft — 
Becomes a Charon — takes a piece of gold. 
Turns knowledge stream to be the Styx of old, 
Cares for naught else than that the cargo yields, 
And turns to Pluto's realms, the Elysian fields. 

Arise I Tarquinius,'^ from the realms so cold, 

Where Nox and Erebus their revels hold. 

Shake off their son's, dull Somnus' sway so drear, 

And with thy former majesty appear. 

(xrant us as boon thy dignities' renown, 

While we portray some doctors of the town, 

Whose bearing grave and keenly-glancing eye 

Bear witness to their self-sufficiency. 

W^ho shake their sapient locks — look very wise ; 

Call in their friends to some new plan devise 

To keep the patient ill another day ; 

* Tarquinius, surnamed Siiperbus on account of his great /r/a't' 
and dignity. The same epithet may be applied to so many in the 
medical profession, that it has been thought proper to awake the 
spirit of the original Tarquin. 



38 



THE DOCTORS DREAM. 



(Provided, always, that they think he'll pay,) 
Talk of the brain, and nerves proceeding thence, 
More wise appear, the more they distance sense. 
Term pain " neuralgia," or if the man be stout. 
Cry out, " Dear Sir, you have rhciiniatic gout." 
Tap on the chest — some awful sounds they hear. 
Then satisfied, declare, " The case is clear," 
Draw forth a paper, seize the magic cpiill, 
And write in mystic signs, '' Cathariic pill^ 

Tur: Dream.* 

'Tis midnight, now, and curious thoughts are weav 
ing 

Mysterious spells athwart my dreamy mind. 
Which drowsily is in the distance leaving 

The world, the joys, the foUies of mankind. 
And as I ponder o'er the mighty past. 

With ghostly memories my spirits teem ; 
Now forms grotesque are rushing o'er me fast, 

And fairies come to lull me to a dream. 



* This portion of the poem was given in Buffalo at the banquet 
given to the New York Homoeopathic Medical Society, September, 



THE DOCTOR'S DREAM. 



39 



'Tis Jiot a dream of love, as Dido fain 
Would pray to rest upon her anxious brain, 
When faithless son of old Anchises swore 
Eternal friendship, and then fled her shore. 
Nor such an one as CEnone, whose charms 
Awhile brought faithless Paris to her arms, 
Would raptured wake from and would wailing cry, 
" Many-fountained Ida, hearken ere 1 die,"* 
'Tis not a dream of horror, crime or blood. 
As told of Aram by the poet Hood, 
But one in which compounders of new pills 
Doctors for patients making monstrous bills, 
Female physicians, literary hacks. 
Charlatans, empirics, regulars and quacks. 
A wild incongruous and motley mass 
Stand by to see a grand procession pass. 



Hark ! hark 1 the sound of royal music comes. 
The trumpets bray, the parchment-headed drums 
Rattle aloud, time marking with the blow. 
That brainless drummers on their tops bestow. 
A youth moves foremost, bearing proud on high, 
A torch 

* I'ide Tennyson's " Ginone." 



40 THE DOCTOR'S DREAM. 

Of " Bark " * and 

*' Pitch of Burcjundv,"! 
While in 

" Ethf.kial" :|: air 

From founts obscured. 
With golden spouts 

"(3l. Tkrkhixth " ^ 

Is poured, 
Which ceaseless streaming on the flickering fire, 
Creates new brightness never to expire. 

Then there appears 



* Besides the inflammable qualities of " Bark," as known to the 
Aborigines, the tonic properties of the same have been the chief re- 
liance of the disciples of /Esculapius from the period of the deluge 
for all kinds of weaknesses, especially those of the brain. 

t Pinus Abies. " It is very adhesive to the skin, and conse- 
quently forms excellent plasters." — Dunglison. 

:j: ^/V/<? " Ether and Chloroform," by F'lag. The combination of 
Ether, Bark, and Pitch would necessarily render a most brilliant 
light in the darkness and mist of many schools of medicine. 

g Oil of Turpentine. A great medicine among a certain class of 
practitioners. Used especially by the natives of the south for 
torch-light processions ; by the allopaths of the north for the ex- 
pulsion of worms ; and by St. Patrick of Ireland for the demolition 
of snakes. 



THE DOCTOR'S DREAM. 



41 



Old Chiron* 

in the van ; 
Medicine's Instructor — partly horse, part man. 
His noble front is bound with leaves of fig ; 
His locks anointed with 

" ()L. CrOTOX. TIG."f 

With vig'rous tail he slays the 

" Flies"! ^^at tease, 
While imps of " Sheepskin "| 
shout 

" Cantharides." 

His pupil next, 

Great ' ' yEscu la pi us , " | | 
see, 



* C/i!/>£7«— a c<?;?/«z/r; half horse, half man. Supposed to be the 
first professor in a Medical College occupying the chair of Botany 
and Medical Jurisprudence. 

t Croton oil — A new form of pomade. 

X Meloe vesicatorius. The only fly that bites after it is dead. 

g The combination of flies an,d sheepskin, making an excellent 
blister to draw on the imagination. 

II yEsculapius read medicine with Chiron, and was a first-rate 
student. His career was brilliant. He had two sons who became 
doctors, and a daughter who studied medicine in a Female Medical 
College. Vide et scq. 

4 



42 THE DOCTOR'S DREAM. 



With g^race sublime, he sips strong 

" Catnip Tea." 
His daughter, 

" HVGEIA,"* 

near with tresses loose. 
Divides her time 'twixt 

" Apple Sauce and Goose. 

While 

" SniNl\(, MERCL'RV,"t 

O'erhead doth flit, 
1 rearing his son in arms. 

Pale " Chlorid mit.'"J. 
But oh ! what grace, what dignity is seen 
In " ("jALEn's "^ bearing as he moves supreme. 
One might)' arm supports 

" A PAIL OF TIN," 

With 



* The Goddess of Hygeia and Health, partial to digestible arti- 
cles of diet, as sausage, goose, chops, and dried beef. Is a special 
patroness of the homoeopathists. 

f Synonym — ^^Sheet-anchor of Allopathy. 

X The scientific appellation for " Calomel." 

\ The Apothecaries' sign. Vide "The Poor Gentlemen," and 
Coxe's Epitome. 



THE DOC TOR'S DREA M. 



43 



" Lime " and " Aqua pura,"'^ 

Mixed within ; 
While on his shoulder rests a 

" Sculptured hod," 
Rich with 

" Six livers from a SINGLE COD/'f 
And thus prepared, he joins, with master art, 
Those structures fair, disease has torn apart. 

"Four patent legs";]: 

A " Flax-seed cushion"^ bear, 
On which there rests 

"A Carbuncle, "II 

most rare. 



* The combination prescribed for colicky infants and dyspeptic 
females as Lime Water. Scientifically written " Aqua calcis." 

t To be mixed with three hundred parts of common lard, and 
labelled/;/;-** " Cod-Liver oil." Called in the " regular" nomen- 
clature Olemn jecoris aselli. 

1 The two anterior being Mark's. The posterior known as 
Palmer's. 

2 A regular old-fashioned poultice. 

I A gem in surgery, generally best seen on the back of the neck. 
The color is of a most brilliant red, and much appreciated by the 
wearer. 



44 T//A' DOCTOR'S DREAM. 



" XOLI .All-: TANGERE,"* 

The motto 'neath. 
In solemn state 

"A HuNDREij Donkeys" pass, 
Laden ed with 

"Tumors well preserxed i\ (;lass;" 
A " Hottentot," with 

" Setons " in his ears, 
Bearing Koch's Dead Tubercultne appears. 
The tubes are co\ered with a sombre pall 
On which is written, "He hath fooled us all. ' 
Ten tottering gray-beards tote a tin petard 
Inscribed " Catholicox of Brown-Sequard. ' 
They chant this song in tones of deep regret, 
" We've taken tons but have not got there yet." 
liut Lords supreme of all who move before, 
The doctors come, the heroes we adore ; 
Ancient sarcophagi, encased with dust, 
With old traditions filled and moist with must ; 
Their chariots form ; the glowing v/heels of brass 
Creating deafening thunder as they pass. 



* Lup2is— the wolt — Inscribed over the cages of the beasts as 
matter of warning. 



THE DOCTOR'S DREAM. 45 

Then over all falls deep Cimmerian gloom, 

And I behold the yawnings of a tomb, 

So vast in size, mine eye can scarcely see 

The full extent of its capacity. 

The whole procession, with convulsive din, 

Wavers a moment, and at once falls in ; 

While from the earth, the air, the skies. 

Clad in the draperies of Truth, arise 

A host of men, true, honest, strong and brave. 

Who close the sepulchre and seal the grave. 

And then I see, in new effulgence bright, 

A Buffalo reporter here to-night ; 

I cry aloud, " Oh ! Paragon of truth. 

What awful accident is this, forsooth ?" 

He smiles and says, " It is — (my words are true) — 

The burial of the Old School by the New." 

I woke and thought — this may be onh- fun ! 
But, 'pon my word, the thing is almost done. 

Epilogue. 
Oh 1 biped man, how oft thou bring'st the soul, 
Immortal, to the body's mean control. 
That jewel fair, whose far-resplendent ray 
Transforms dark passions' night to glorious day ; 



46 THE DOCTOR'S DREAM. 



Whase radiance pure sheds double light around, 
The setting dark, in which the gem is found. 
Whose every flaw, when cleansed by Conscience's 

tears, 
Man in the semblance of his God appears. 
We dim that light that ever heavenward tends, 
Subservient render it to worldly ends ; 
By Passion's glass we intercept the beam, 
That, when reflected, with unhealthy gleam. 
Tho' potent, still enables us to see, 
And screen Irom iellow-man our obloquy. 



ODE TO THE BACILLUS. 



47 



ODE TO THE BACILLUS. 

/^^H, powerful bacillus, 

^-^ With wonder how you fill us, 

Every day I 
While medical detectives. 
With powerful objectives, 

Watch your play. 

In epidemic glanders, 

In certain forms of " janders," 

You delight. 
E'en to the fifteenth culture. 
Voracious as a vulture, 

You can bite. 

Koch and Spina, growing splenic, 
O'er your power septicasmic. 

Rant and roar, 
Schmidt says, done up in cotton, 
Only then you are begotten. 

Not before. 



48 ODE TO THE BACILLUS. 



In lung tuberculosis, 

In skin necrobiosis 

How you squirm I 
While certain kinds of burnin;^ 
Are caused by sporules turning — 
Some affirm. 

'Tis said a crypto-coccus 
Will very often choke us, 

If we fail 
To drop the acid phenic, — 
Which is anti-septica:^mic, — 

On its tail. 

Freer says in fe\ er yellow 
He finds a little fellow 

Breeding pest. 
Gregg swears, do what he will, he 
vSees nothing but fibrilli, 

By his test. 

In atmosphere mejjhitic. 
In poison diphtheritic, 

How you revel ! 
In earth and air and ocean 
You keep disease in motion. 

Like a devil. 



ODE TO THE BACILLUS. 49 

But bacillus, oh ! bacillus, 
Vou try in vain to kill us, 

Yet we thrive. 
And though you try to blind us, 
Next year I hope you'll' find us 

Quite alive. 



50 COMMENCEMENT MEMORIES. 



COMMENCEMENT MEMORIES. 



Given at the Alumni dinner of the New York 
Homoeopathic Medical College and Hospital. Dcl- 
monico's, April 23, 1891. 



H 1 well do I remember, 'twas the March 



AH : well I 
of ■- 



When, full of hope and confidence, I stood for my 

degree. 
With a host of jolly aspirants, who cramm'd for 

every quiz. 
Each thinking a professorship undoubtedly was 

his. 

The Trustees and the Faculty were seated on the 

stage, 
In blue dress coats and high black stocks, which 

then were all the rage ; 
The band behind the President was playing "An/d 

La fig Synr,'" 
Before him lay the sheep-skin rolls, and one of 

them was mine. 



COMMENCEMENT MEMORIES. 5 I 

Commencement days were things of note some 

forty years ago, 
When every sprig of fashion, every girl who had a 

beau, 
The/a^T and the mater, and the cousins came to 

see 
Their man who burnt the midnight oil stand up for 

his degree. 

Now I had burned by gallons this edifying oil, 
My conjunctivcE ocu/ar were red with midnight toil. 
My head stood on my shoulders like a pea-pod 

- like to burst. 
My throat was dry as parchment, and raging was 
my thirst. 

Till friends declared such sacrifice for scientific 
cause. 

The acquirement of knowledge by breaking Na- 
ture's laws. 

Necessarily had plunged them in a deep abyss of 
gloom , 

For they saw my thirst for — knowledge would land 
me in the tomb. 



52 



C OMMENCEMENT MEMORIES. 



So then I grew domestic quite ; at home I loved to 

stay, 
Till some one (he is here to-night) would lead my 

feet astray, 
And oft as 1 was mastering the mystery of l)ones, 
A gray professor now {fJirn yoiinj^) would sing in 

dulcet tones : 

" Oh ! come to where m/civra lies glistening in the 

shell 
Of every opened bivalve fat — 1 know you love it 

well ; 
Oh : come to where the natnini viur. lies read\- to 

your hand. 
And grated coclilcana supplied upon demand." 

Oh I shade of mighty .Esculus, how we did study 

then : 
The pure Materia Medica as proven upon men. 
The Spiritits fnniu-iif/ \\\\\d with capsicum was hot, 
But we blanch'd not in our duty and took it on the 

spot. 

But I've wandered from my story of that Com- 
mencement Day, 

Because 'tis sweet to memory to let the old thoughts 
play 



COMMENCEMENT MEMORIES. 53 



Round those happy days of boyhood when hope's 

bright flag unfurled, 
When we buckled on our armor and went to fight 

the world. 

And here to-night I see around old soldiers in the 
fray, 

Whose eyes were bright with youthful light on that 
Commencement Day, 

When we proudly strode the platform and listened 
to the band. 

And to Latin dissertations which we did not under- 
stand — 

But each man owned a sheep-skin, and proudly 

clasped it close. 
For it told the student's story and '' ouinibiis ad 

qiios, 
HcBC litercp prccsentcs pcrvcncrint,'' 'twould be 
Proof he'd gotten through the green-box ; could 

write himself M.D. 

Ah ! boys, you may not know it now, but after 

years will tell. 
When in retrospective moments these scenes you 

know so well 



5 4 COMMENCEMENT MEMORIES. 



Will rise l^efore your memory in colors brii,dit and 

bold, 
(And when the hand that penn'd these lines has 

long been stiff and cold) 

That your student life at college — its quizzes and 

its crams, 
Its impecuniosity, and that the worst of shams, 
(The burning of the midnight oil) which i)arents 

love to hear. 
Consisting of tobacco smoke and sweitzer case and 

beer — 

^■()ur clinic days, your college songs, your protests 

and your fights, 
The unmentionable places where oft you spent 

)(»ur nights. 
Combine the happiest periods you reckon in your 

lives. 
And in matrimonial quarrels you'll tell it to your 

wi\es. 

lUit just one word in earnest, mid laughter, joke 

and fun, 
I say it to this newest class — this class of '91. 



COMMENCEMENT MEMORIES. 55 

I say it with my hair grown gray, and face turned 

to the west, 
Go forth upon your noble work, oh I go and do 

your best. 

The path is hard and stony, beset by many snares, 
For all the happiness of life is intertwined with 

cares ; 
Success is not a goddess fair, who smiles upon 

demand ; 
She only crowns the head of him who works with 

heart and hand. 

But oh ! be sure she ever comes to him who con- 
stant toils. 

Who with dishonorable deeds his hands he never 
soils ; 

She comes with glory and renown to him who 
steadfast waits ; 

Go forth upon your noble work ; see, Hope stands 
at the grates. 



56 



MV FIRST PA TIE NT. 



MV FIRST PATIENT. 



RepciUed at the banquet of the American Insti- 
tute of Homoeopathy, at Pittsburgh, and at the 
Faculty dinner at the Hotel Hrunswick, New York. 



"\ I THAT shall I say, when all my friends to-night, 

* * Have blazed in such a galaxy of light ; 
How can I sing, when all around me here 
Speaks of naught else than Pittsburgh's jo\ial cheer ; 
What shall I do to raise niy name to glory. 
With your permission, may I tell a story ? 

'Tis not a story such as doctors tell 
A dying patient, that he'll soon " get well," 
If he — all medication being vain — 
Will seek the balmy air of distant plain. 
Nor such an one, when on a rainy night, 
The door bell 's rung by some unhappy wight, 
Who cries aloud, " Sir, is the doctor in ?"' 
To tell a storv then is not a sin. 



J/F FIRST PA TIEN T. 



57 



This story then, beheve me, is a true one, 

And happened to myself some years ago ; 
It therefore is, most certainly a new one, 

I never having mentioned it to friend or foe. 
'Twas when I, fresh from halls of learning. 

Believed myself a great receptacle of knowledge. 
As most young men, whose eager minds are burning 

With lore all medical, received at college. 
I thought that I could all diseases cure. 

Could dish out medicines for aches and ills, 
That no one need a single pang endure 

If I stood by with homoeopathic pills. 

It was in Philadelphia, city fair, 

I lectured once and practiced physic there. 

Sowed my wild oats, from which, dear me, I'm 

reaping 
Disastrous fruits, more bitter for their keeping. 
'Twas there a student in long days gone by, 
Those days of pleasant memory, when I 
Heard from dear Matthew's lips, the truths that fell 
Of our great system, which he knew so well, 
Where Gardner taught us on a simple plan, 
" The noblest study of mankind is man," 
Unfolded to our wondering gaze each hour, 
The last great work of God's creative power. 
5 



!^ 8 M V FIRS T PA TIENT. 



(lO, sc:irch your collei^es fnr learned men, 
Who teach unatomy to students eager, 

List well to their instruction and e'en then 

To C.ardner's twill be coninKtnplace and nica;j;re. 

There j^^entle l.ooniib toiled tVoni da\ to (la\ , 
While swej^t the golden sands of life away. 
Caught the last twining of the silver cord. 
To pour out knowledge from his am|)lc hoard. 
Ah : let u^ pause and drop a silent tear. 
To those fond memories we hold so dear. 
Let recollection tune our hearts once mf)re. 
To friends departed whom we knew of yore. 

* 7;- 7:- 7:- ■>;■ 

lUit Williamson and Ilemple ^tand to view, 
And. oh my prophetic soul, mv rNri.i:: too. 

lint there weie fellow -students al>>o there 

Who now ha\e grown in name and reputation. 

Ha\e married ladies who are wondrous fair. 

And done " right nobly." every man his share. 
To medicate the nation. 

I have my eye on one, whom 1 could name, 

Whod slip a quiz at any time to go 
And exercise the muscles of his frame, 

Bv rolling ten-pins in a street below . 



M V FIRS T FA TIF NT. 5 9 



I see another, who on cHnic-days would be 
So weary with his labors and so pale, 

That he would fain entice a company 
To feed on oysters and to drink pale ale. 

But pshaw ; I see the blushes on these doctors' 
faces. 

And worse than all : their ladies make grimaces. 

Therefore, though every word of this is truth, 

I'll not repeat these memories of my youth. 

Well, as I said — excuse my being prosy, 
I'll hurry through this little bit of rhyme, 

The older gentlemen are growing dozy. 
And think I'm wasting very precious time. 

In that same city fair, of which I tell, 
Amid the cares of life there used to dwell 
A lady of the far-famed Emerald Isle, 
Rheumatic and dyspeptic, full of bile, 
" Cross as two sticks," and with a temper sour, 
The doctor having tested well the power 
Of senna and of salts, of pills and Misters, 
Salves, plasters, chologogues and clysters. 
To kill or cure her — but had been defeated — 
Bv strength of constitution being cheated. 



6 O ^1/1 ' FIRS T PA TIEN T. 

She sent for me in haste to come and see, 
What her condition for a cure might be. 
Dear me ! a patient — what a happy tone, 
To have a patient, and one all my own — 
To have a patient and myself be fee'd. 
Raised expectations very high indeed — 
I saw a practice growing from the seed. 

I tried to don a very learned look. 

Placed 'neath my aim a Symptom-Codex book, 

(A fashion which in many cities then 

Was followed by most scientific men. 

But which, adopted in New York would be 

Considered proof of insufficiency). 

It was a bitter cold December day, 

And as I tramped the hard and frozen ground, 
The winter wind with icicles at play, 

Strew'd glittering fragments everywhere around. 

I reached the house in expectation rare. 
And found the patient seated on a stool, 

From which she turned a concentrated stare. 
As though I'd been a thief, a knave, or fool. 

I drew my chair quite gently to her side. 

And to her wrist my finger I applied. 



AfV FIRS T FA TIE NT. 6 1 

Counted her pulse, and with a cheerful air, 

Said — quite professionally — " Hem I quite fair !'' 

In soothing accents then the dame 1 asked, 

" Will you allow me to inspect your tongue? " 

She blurted out, not liking to be tasked, 

" Arrah 1 me darlint, but you'r moighty young — 

Oive got a misery in me side, och ! dear. 

Its throubled me for over sixteen year ; 

Cure me o' that, me darling honey, 

Ye'U get a dollar o' the best of money." 

I asked each symptom and observed each look, 

Wrote them " secundum artem " in my book, 

Talk'd more about her rheums and aches and pains, 

Than Allen's Cyclopaedia contains. 

And then requested as a simple boon, 

That she would bring a tumbler and a spoon. 

7<- ^ * ^ ^- 

There's not a lady or a doctor here 

Who does not know these philosophic facts, 
Which oftentimes are suddenly made clear, 

That heat expands and cold contracts ; 
That if we bring a glass, a jug, or pot 
From freezing temperature to air that's hot, 
Then the attraction called "cohesive'" ceases. 
And ten to one, the glass will split to pieces. 



6 2 Afi ' FIKS T FA TIENT. 



Now this old lady's crockery was kept 
In a cold hall adjoining where she slept, 
And as she brought the tumbler to her seat, 
She suddenly exposed it to the heat. 

I drew my tiny vial from its place. 

And counting, dropped — one, two, three, four 
When suddenly, oh ! most unlucky case, 

The tumbler split, and fell upon the floor. 

The Irish dame grew purple with her ire, 
She started from her seat fornenst the tire. 
Seized with a will the poker from its place. 
And scream'd while shaking it before my fiice, 

"Out of mc house ye murtherin villain ! 

Is it meself that ye'd be killin ! 

Them pizen drops that burst yon glass in twain 

Would kill me ere they aised me pain. 

Och 1 'tis a mercy that the stuff was spilt 

Afore I was blowed up and kilt." 

How, when, or where I niade retreat, 

I do not now remember, 
I found myself far up the street, 

That dav in cold December. 



J/K FIRST FA TIENT. 6^ 



I felt just as I did one day, 

When my young love was jilted ; 

I felt — as western people say — 
Expressive adverb — " wilted." 

But every rose will have its thorn, 

And every thorn its rose, 
There's cob in every ear of corn, 

There's nightmare in the doze. 

Our lives, we know, are all made up 

Of pleasure and of pain ; 
But gall and wormwood in the cup. 

May turn to sweets again. 

And so, what then o'erwhelmed me quite, 

And gave my pride a fall, 
I here with smiles rehearse to-nigh l 

A little joke — that's all. 



64 DOGMATIC DOC TORS. 



DOGMATIC DOCTORS. 



A SATIRE. 



This poem was ^iven at the Pittsburgh Opera 
House September 20, 1887. It formed part of a 
ceremonial to celebrate the fiftieth anniversary of 
the introduction of Homteopathy west of the Alle- 
ghany mountains by C.ustaxus Reichelm, M.D. 
The opera house was crowded by a brilliant audi- 
ence, and many gentlemen made addresses perti- 
nent to the occasion. The celebration closed by an 
elegant banquet at the Monongahela House, which 
will long be remembered by those who were present 
on the occasion. 



y^OCTORS resemble \ ery jealous lo\ers, 
*-^ One sneers at that the other one discovers 
One may declare that he the truth descries, 
The other flatly tells you that he lies. 
The one announces that a new bacillus 
Will breed a pestilence and surely kill us ; 



D O GMA TIC DOCTORS. 65 



The other, laughing, says this mundane sphere, 
Minus the microbe, soon would disappear. 
One swears malaria will ever be 
The fountain head of each infirmity ; 
The other proves diseases to be fewer. 
'Mongst those who daily labor in the sewer. 
And so dogmatic doctors dodge the blow 
Which brother doctors on their heads bestow. 

So when a principle, which, if believed. 
Would overturn all notions preconceived. 
Would sadly sully .^sculapian fame. 
And cast discredit on "old Physic's" name, 
Came like the spark, which little power displays, 
Till winds propitious fan it to blaze — 
The doctors, still dogmatic, rose eji masse, 
Called the progenitor of truth an ass ; 
Sneer'd at his knowledge, and his name reviled, 
Sland'rous reproach on misconstruction piled, 
Bound him at once on persecution's rack, 
Term'd nature's greatest benefactor, "Quack;" 
Lampooned the scholar with a ribald wit. 
With arguments at once unjust, unfit ; 
Including, in their universal ban. 
The life, the works, the friends of Hahnemann. 



66 DO GJ/A TIC D OCT O RS. 



When Pyrrhus, so the ancient fable goes, 
Was eager marching on Beroean foes, 
A spirit from immortal Alars was sent 
To summon him to Alexander's tent. 
There, spent with wounds, the Macedonian lay, 
But promised succor in the coming fray. 
" How can this be?" th' indignant Pyrrhus cries, 
" The light of life is failing in thine eyes. 
Thy martial spirit can inspire no more. 
To-morrow thou shalt touch the Stygian shore." 
The mighty chieftain raised his mailed hand. 
And thus to Pyrrhus, in most stern command : 
" Yet shalt thou triumph both by land and sea, 
Still shall thy gonfalon victorious be. 
Still shall the pii^an echo with thy fame. 
For I will lead thine armies by my name." 
And so the name of Hahnemann shall be 
The watch-word for diseased humanity. 
When that vast army of the body's foes. 
Of aches and pains and agonies composed. 
That ever watchful in our earthly span 
Descend rapaciously on erring man. 
Obstruct his life-work with their baleful breath. 
And ofttimes terminate their raid in death. 



D O GMA TIC DOCTORS. 67 



Yet spite of all reproach the system grew, 

Extending from the old world to the new ; 

Sweeping away objections in its flight, 

Gathering, in its momentum, might ; 

Each fact establish' d tending to create 

An increased spirit to investigate. 

Then Gram and Hering from the master came, 

And still, like Pyrrhus, trusting in a name, 

With faith implicit in the Cause did rear 

Its banner on the Western Hemisphere. 

Here was the soil in which to plant the seed. 

Here toleration greeted every creed, 

Here new philosophy new truths displayed, 

And day by day were new discoveries made. 

Here the profession liberal would be 

And gladly welcome homoeopathy. 

V^ain was the surmise and the hope forlorn, 

The doctors, still dogmatic, laughed in scorn. 

Smelt at their canes and prophesying swore 

In half a decade 't would be known no more. 

"What," cried these dignified and learned M.D.'s. 

" If like cures like, disease must cure disease. 

This is paradox, a child may see 

To all established teaching contrary. 

The .Esculapian temple stands disgraced 



68 DO CM A TIC DOC TORS. 

Till this unfounded tenet is displaced. 

No mortal since Hippocrates was born, 

Save Paracelsus, drunken and forlorn, 

Has dared our precincts sacred to invade, 

And shake foundations centuries have laid. 

Make Mother (".oose the text-book of this school, 

In rhymes she tells the children of a fool, 

Whose eyes scratch' d out, with all his might and 

main 
With sharper briars scratch'd them in again." 

So against the master and his law of cure. 
His name reviled, his system's downfall sure, 
The critics judgment gave, in language gross, 
Ikit grew more rabid when they came to dose. 
" Put but a drop of aconite," say they, 
" In winter months on rocks in Baffin's Bay, 
In spring-tide let the homcjcopathist go 
Rejoicing to the Gulf of Mexico, 
Drop there a vial in the waves so bright, 
And draw from thence the potent aconite. 
Immediate cork it, shake the bottle well. 
Give fever'd patients every hour a smell. 
And see disease, ere that olfaction's done, 
X'anish like mist before the morning sun." 



DOGMA TIC DOCTORS. 69 



Thus ridicule its sharpest arrow sent 

As substitute for solid argument. 

But ridicule can offer slight defence 

'Gainst facts established by our common sense. 

As yet, beyond the AUeghanies blue, 

Adherents to the system were but few. 

Till sent by Hering, Gustave Reichelm came, 

Like Gram and Pyrrhus, trusting in a name. 

Remember this was fifty years ago. 

Travel to westward then was wondrous slow, 

No rushing trains by hundreds every day 

Like light'ning speeded o'er the iron way, 

No tunnelled mountains echoed with the scream 

Of iron horses with their breath of steam ; 

No velvet-cushioned, ventilated car ; 

No Pullman patent trains vestibular ; 

No rails of steel, no Westinghouse's brake, 

Which now the journey so luxurious make, 

Were knowm to man. Conveyance then was rude, 

The journey hither one of magnitude ; 

The cumbrous stage coach climb'dthe steep ascent. 

While dang'rous passes to the journey lent 

Increasing peril to the traveler, who 

By force of circumstance came through. 



70 



DOGMA T/C DOCTORS. 



Yet all undaunted came the pioneer 
To Pittsburgh, then considered a frontier. 
Alone, this solitary German )-outh, 
Simple in mind, relying on the truth, 
Without a partisan, without a friend 
On whom in times of trial to depend. 
Unknown but patient, steadfast and sincere, 
Unfurled his banner, which he planted here. 
Behold 1 what half a century has done ; 
To-day we thank him for the battle won. 

Friends, can you dream how fast the pulses be 

Of this great age, the last half century. 

Add skill to force and see ten thousand powers 

Shake the great earth in these fast times of ours ; 

See, in five decades what our race has done, 

(hand in the past, but grander yet to come. 

Thousands of slaves from galling chains set free. 

And man of man demanding liberty 

Of speech, of action, and of wholesome thought. 

Which widening science in our times has wrought. 

liehold where woman, better understood, 

Stands in the glory of her womanhood. 

Freed from that prejudice, where long confined. 

Her bodv was acknowledged, not her mind. 



D O GMA TIC DOC TORS. 7 I 

See where the microscope has opened wide 
The gates of science where we petrified, 
Behold new fields, reveahng though untrod, 
The increased wisdom of Almighty God. 

But here in Pittsburgh, fifty years ago, 
These mighty changes had not stirred men so. 
The horizon, 'tis true, was fair and bright, 
(jlowing and beautiful with coming light. 
But doctors, still dogmatic in their pride. 
Though waking slowly to the rising tide 
Of views enlarging and of newer thought, 
Sdll held the doctrines that their fathers taught, 
Mistrusted every innovation bold, 
Despised the new, but reverenced the old. 
Those were the times when, daily, "ten and ten " 
Relieved the livers of our fellow men ; 
Then blisters set the epidermis free, 
When stabbing pains foretold a pleurisy; 
Then blood in streamlets was allowed to run 
In every case there was a doubt upon ; 
Then setons, moxas, and the issue peas. 
Combined or singly frightened off disease. 
Which often with rapidity withdrew, 
Relieved the pain, but killed the patient too. 



72 DO GMA TIC DOC TORS. 

Then, as l)efore to (.ram — now Reichelm's foes, 

Dogmatic doctors instantly arose, 

Who hke their brothers, centuries l^efore 

Great Harvey vihfied, at Jenner s\\ ore, 

In old examples satisfaction found, 

And made with ridicule the air resound, 

" Humbug I most arrant humbug 1" was the cry ; 

" Give it a decade and the thing will die." 

Thus did dogmatic doctors prophesy. 

Men rent with pain care not for science, 

'Tis then the doctor is their chief reliance. 

Migrating microbes are forgot in spasm. 

And all tlie \ aried forms of bioplasm 

Drop from the convolutions of the brain 

E'en of the scientist when racked with pain. 

That man who quickest cures them of their ills, 

Reducing to a minimum their bills, 

With nauseating drugs disgusts them least, 

Of .Esculapius is the true high priest. 

To him successful — sure as shines the sun — 

Afflicted mortals will determined run. 

One cure effected here produced another. 

Each man made whole informed his suf 'ring brother 



D O GMA TIC D O CTORS. 7 3 

That a new system, how, he could not tell, 
But minus opium or calomel, 
Had cured his ills, his biting pangs relieved. 
That cures were facts and facts must be believed. 
So with a force unknown by Heaven blest, 
The system spreading fiU'd the distant west. 

When Reichelm came, now fifty years ago, 
Pittsburgh herself could scarce her future know. 
Behold her now, her forces still unspent. 
The greatest factor on this continent. 
See, where her hills the untold iron hold. 
Which rules the world more certainly than gold ; 
See, in her mines the everlasting coal ; 
Hear in her streets the hum, the whirr, the roll, 
A million wheels develop and command 
The skill'd attention of the workman's hand. 
Nature's great forces now are said to be 
Pure light, great heat, and electricity. 
Pittsburghians have caught and chain'd the three, 
Made them obedient to inventive will. 
While untold wonders are predicted still. 
What heat for regulation can surpass 
Caloric furnished by your natural gas ? 
Where is illumination half so bright 
6 



74 J^O GMA TIC DOC TORS. 

As here where shines the incandescent hght 

Which through a wire-electric instant flies ? 

A touch ignites it — by a touch it dies. 

Here flames the furnace, there the forge by night 

Reddens the firmament with hu-id hght. 

And yonder factories, 'mid fire and smoke, 

Produce ten hundred thousand tons of coke 

In one short year. And see the adjacent soil 

Yielding in torrents lubricating oil. 

While clanging hammers and the anvils' ring 

Proudly proclaim your " iron city " — King. 

As progress opens wide these new domains 
Fair science liberality proclaims. 
Physicians, once material, can show 
That great results from smallest forces grow ; 
That all the atmosphere is filled with germs, 
Arranged and classified with curious terms; 
That each disease a special microbe claims 
With scientific though jaw-breaking names, 
That in our food, our ice, the air, the ground. 
Bacteria subtle everywhere abound. 
That life itself, with all its joys and woes. 
Comes from a bioplast which no one knows. 
They call it protoplasmic, and it grows. 



D O GMA TIC DOC TORS. 7 5 

The microscopists of to-day can tell 
That man himself is nothing but a sell. 

With these o'erwhelming revelations known, 
The doctors now have less dogmatic grown, 
Each honest man — buf Jionest he must be — 
Allows his friends the utmost liberty 
To cure his sick, as conscience may direct, 
Without regard to " pathy " or to sect. 
For old-time dogmatism now forsooth 
Is overpower'd by the march of truth. 
For truth is golden, beautiful, and pure. 
Though error oft-times may its path obscure ; 
The voice of rancor may its progress mar, 
As sombre clouds eclipse the brightest star ; 
Ancient opinions may obstruct its light, 
And misconception veil it from our sight — 
Yet as the mists of old delusions fade. 
And fierce invective sinks into the shade, 
Truth's glorious light will then refulgent shine 
Undimmed and peerless by a right divine ; 
For God is truth, and truth must ever be 
In man a near approach to Deity. 



76 AN AL UMNI POEM. 



AN ALUMNI POEM. 



Given at the Alumni dinner of the Hahnemann 
Medical College of I'hiladelphia, March 31, 1886, 
Hotel St. George. 



/^AUR lives are likened unto books ; 

^-^ Each fleeting moment tells 

The words, the thoughts, the acts, the looks, 

That in the story dwells. 
A passion glooms athwart the page, 

A pleasure flashes bright, 
A noble act that lives to age, 

A deed that shrinks from sight. 
A yearning for the highest spheres 

Of God's eternal Truth, 
A sinking to the vice that smears 

The golden days of youth. 
The struggle when by tempest tossed. 

The sinking in the mire, 
The striving to regain the lost 

And rise to regions higher. 



AN ALUMNI POEM. 7 7 

These are the themes that day by day 

Crowd thickly o'er hfe's pages, 
And history repeats the play 

Down through the lapse of ages. 
Oh ! Time, why runnest thou so fast 

Towards that mystic sea 
Whose endless waves convey the past 

On to Eternity ? 
Oh ! Time, it seems so short a space 

Since I within the halls 
Of Alma Mater took my place, 

That Memory recalls 
(As lightning flashing in the night, 

Far o'er a dark expanse. 
Discloses with a brilliant light 

The landscape at a glance) 
Each kindly act, each word, each look, 

Of those who then began 
To people pages in my book 

That, though a gray-haired man, 
I feel again — Oh ! let it last 

To-night without alloy — 
The bounding pulses of the past, 

The pleasures of a boy. 

^«- -H- * * 



7 8 A.V AL I 'MNI POEM. 

Again I turn a leaf, and then 

Rejoice I saw the time, 
In which our great of greatest men 

Lived Hering in his prime. 
Young was our Ahna Mater then, 

Her scions then were few ; 
Are thes^ old, wrinkled, care-worn men 

The laughing boys I knew ? 

As retrospection opens wide 

The page I dimly see, 
For overwhelming is the tide 

That floods my memory. 
Let Silence reign, 'tis quite as well 

That I should hold my tongue, 
'Twere bootless now the tale to tell, 

The song need scarce be sung. 
For many friends have gone to rest, 

Some whom I loved full well. 
The brightest, noblest, and the best 

In youthful triumph fell. 
In vain we call them from the gloom. 

God bless them as they sleep I 
But mem'ry green around their tomb 

Let each Alumnus keep. 



AN AL UMNI POEM. '] 9 



And as my book its story true 

Unwinds the tangled thread, 
And thoughts, and acts, and motives too. 

Are numbered with the dead. 
Undaunted mem'ry Hngers yet 

O'er stories sweet and old, 
Or ponders with a vain regret 

As destinies unfold, 
And show how blind with selhsh light 

We oft misjudged, condemned 
I Those very acts now seen aright 

I We glory to defend. 

But tears are worthless to the dead, 
( Why contemplate our sorrow ? 

Some pages still remain unread, 

The present and to-morrow. 

The Present, yes, this leaf we hold. 

Let friendship rule the hour. 
For friends are dearer far than gold, 

When clouds and tempests lower. 
The present, let it linger yet 

With fragrant mem'ries dear; 
It soon shall fade ; its sun shall set ; 

Its eventide appear. 



8o AN AL UMNI POEM. 

The mystic time e'en now is fixed, 

The shadows deepen fast ; 
Few fleeting- moments lie betwixt 

To-morrow and the past. 

To-morrow ! Who is here to-night 

Would dare to shift the scene, 
Or gifted with weird second sight, 

Would see the dark unseen? 
What spirit, be it e'er so bold. 

Would dare its fate to see ? 
Who could unshrinkingly behold 

His own futurity ? 

We know enough ; both thorns and flowers 
Are strewn o'er paths we trod ; 

The Past has fled ; the Present ours ; 
The Future leave to God. 



THE MEMORIES OF TWENTY YEARS AGO. 



THE MEMORIES OF TWENTY YEARS AGO. 



Delivered at the banquet of the American Insti- 
tute of Homoeopathy, held at Philadelphia, 1871, 
at the Continental Hotel. 

Also at the Alumni Reunion of the Hahnemann 
Medical College, held at Atlantic City, N. J., June, 
i8qi. 



Mr. President, Ladies and Gentlemen : I rise to- 
night in the presence of this august assemblage to 
lay claim to a new relationship. I assert myself to 
be a step-son of Hahnemann, and I believe I shall 
be able to prove to you the absolute truth of my 
statement. 

In the year 1851, now twenty years ago, I enrolled 
myself as a student of the Homoeopathic Medical 
College of Pennsylvania. She became my Alma 
Mater, and I one of her most unworthy sons. She 
rendered me every facility for acquiring a good 
education, and having a large and rapidly increas- 



82 THE MEMORIES OF TWENTY YEARS AGO. 

ing family, she sent me forth to gain my livelihood, 
having, however, presented me with a document 
(which I am happy to say I still hold in my posses- 
sion) which, in case of necessity, would prove my 
direct relationship to her. Shortly after tl;is occur- 
rence, and for reasons which 1 could never dis- 
tinctly understand, and which I have never been 
able to draw from her or any of the younger mem- 
bers of the family, she saw tit to change Jier name 
(many young ladies, yea, and old ones too, appear 
to delight in similar transformations), and took the 
name of Hahneniann. 

Now 1 would most respectfully inquire if my 
mother, being free from marital ties, should, with 
all due legality of form, take upon herself the name 
of a man whom she has openly professed to reveie 
and admire for years, would not that man be my 
step-father, and would I not be his step-son? 
Therefore, ladies and gentlemen, I claim, as 1 said 
before, to be a step-son of Hahnemann, and a son 
of the Homoeopathic College of Pennsylvania. 
Being called upon to reply to a sentiment given in 
her honor, 1 will, with your permission, repeat to 
you " The Memories of Twenty Years Ago." 



THE MEMORIES OF TWENTY YEARS AGO. 83 

THE world moves on ; the years roll slowly by ; 
Youth comes of age ; the aged decay and die ; 
New faces crowd the ever bustling scene, 
And tell to us what we ourselves have been ; 
Our oldest friends grow wrinkled, bald and gray. 
And we, advancing, grow as old as they ; 
Yet, here to-night our thoughts will backward flow, 
And memories rise of — twenty years ago. 

Here, where my Alma Mater proudly rears 

Her noble head, the pride of roUing years, 

Of glory settling on her peaceful brow, 

I stand to offer her my homage now. 

First of her race, who fearless, dared proclaim 

''Suniliay in the Master's name ! 

First of the schools that to a skeptic world 

The banner of a mighty truth unfurl'd ! 

I love her yet, and may affection grow, 

Which budded here, just — twenty years ago. 

Ah ! oft, when busy recollection plays 
'Mid by-gone scenes of happy student days. 
What faces rise, familiar to the call. 
What memories all my faculties enthrall. 
What visions of that careless, motley crew 



84 THE MEMORIES OF TWENTY YEARS AGO. 

Who studied medicine, and mischief too, 
Before my mind come flitting to and fro, 
Just as they used to — twenty years ago. 

Where are they now ? Why some have risen high, 

Aiming their arrows ever at the sky, 

Some were too wayward, and have gone astray, 

Some hold the even tenor of their way ; 

Some are recording an immortal name 

With gilded letters on the scroll of fame; 

Some have departed hence and laid them low. 

And some remain from — twent\' years ago. 

Among the dead, the last lamented one 
Whom God call'd home, was Walter Williamson. 
Firm at his post, a soldier in the cause. 
Nor age, nor reputation bade him pause ; 
Onward his march in search of golden truth, 
Friend to the aged. Mentor to the youth, 
Ardent and earnest in the paths he trod — 
An honest man — the noblest work of God ! 
He was my friend, and he has told me so, 
E'en when a student — twenty years ago. 

Ah, Alma Mater! as our hair grows gray. 
And spirits ebbing, gradually portray 



THE MEMORIES OF TWENTY YEARS AGO. 85 



The march of years— we honor thee the more, 

Connecting thee with pleasant days of yore. 

I sought thy classic precincts, mother dear, 

I wore thy benches smooth year after year, 

Each tuber ischii has ach'd and borne 

A body weary and a mind forlorn, 

While learning of our human aches and ills. 

Which may be cured and which more surely kills. 

I have heard from reverend lips thy precepts flow, 

And scribbled notes currente calamo, 

Laughed o'er the dead in " parlors of the sky," 

Carved bone and muscle, nerve and artery, 

" Crammed " for each quiz, applauded with my feet, 

And cut my name upon miy chosen seat — 

'Twas the right-hand corner of the second row, 

I cut it there just — twenty years ago. 

These are my sins, O mother ! I avow. 

And ask thy pardon for my foibles now. 

And may I wish thee, in the conjoint name 

Of all thy children, an immortal fame. 

Thy portals fair may knowledge ever crown, 

May wisdom lend thee glory and renown ; 

Forth from thy gates may truth o'erflow in streams. 

The Sun of Progress lighting with its beams ; 



86 THE MEMORIES OF TWENTY YEARS AGO. 

And as we near while ebbing life-light burns 
" That bourne from which no traveller returns," 
And other sons upon our festal days, 
Shall sweetly sing, O Mater in thy praise, 
Then may they speak, while wit and wisdom flow 
Of some who met here — twenty years ago. 



HARMONY OF THE MEDICAL PROFESSION. 87 



THE HARMONY OF THE MEDICAL 
PROFESSION." 



Given at the Banquet to the American Institute 
of Homoeopathy, at Brighton Beach, in response 
to the toast, ''The Hiwniony of the Medical Pro- 
fession, '^ June 17, t88i. 



J^T^IS strange how Physicians will cjuarrel, 
-^ 'Tis queer as the doctors will fight, 

For men who profess to be moral. 
And walk in the paths that are right. 

I've given this subject some study. 

And find as a general rule 
These frays are most serious and bloody, 

Where'ere there's a Medical School. 

Now, look at those fellows in Boston, 
How oft 'gainst each other they rub, 

Not an act that one does is e're lost on 
The others who live at the hub. 



88 HARMOW OF THE MEDICAL PROFESSION. 

In New York on the surface there tloweth 

A mixture of honey and oil, 
But just underneath no one knoweth, 

How fiercely the waters can boil. 

In the city of Quakers, I know it, 

There's a clique there for each other man, 

They've "brotherly love" and they show it, 
" To//t- causaiii " — that is, if you can. 

In Chicago, our noble profession 

Has been in continual row, 
lUit I think they have all learn'd a lesson. 

And trust the\- are better there now. 

And lo ! in Ann Arbor delightful, 
(The name is suggestive of peace) 

The struggles are really frightful — 
The ciuestion is, when will they cease ? 

In Cleveland 'tis generally quiet, 
But once in a while, by the way. 

The Doctors get into a riot. 

And then — there's the Devil to pay. 



HARMONY OF THE MEDICAL PROFESSION. 

xA.nd e'en in that beautiful city, 

Which is known as the " Queen of the West, 
They do — and indeed more's the pity, 

Exactly the same as the rest. 

But ah ! me, what fond recollection 
Still hangs round St. Louis so fair ! 

Why, my happiest themes for reflection. 
Are the thoughts of the fights I had there. 

And I tell you, my friends and my brothers, 
I went thro' those wars with a will, 

So I think I may tell unto others. 

What I learn'd as I pass'd thro' the mill. 

That after each little dissension 

Is settled, it seems very small, 
And we wonder why any contention 

Arose from such trifles at all. 

And oft when the warfare is raging. 

We think it a shame and a sin, 
Yet still we continue its waging. 

For nobody likes to " give in." 

But, Members of the American Institute — 

7 



()0 HARMONY OF THE MEDICAL PROFESSIOX. 



Here where the constant and mysterious tides 
Forever ebb and tlow upon the sands, 

Here where the fuhiess of our strength abides, 
Oh I let us firmly grasp each others' hands, 

Here let us drop those lesser ills of life. 

That down to earth our better natures bind. 
Forget each personal and petty strife, 

And rising higher with ennobled mind, 

Strive for the common good of our great cause 
— An ardent, earnest, and efficient band, 

To spread the truth of one of Nature's laws, 
Broadcast throughout the confines of the land, 



A BALLAD OF THE SLXTEENTH CENTURY 



A BALLAD OF THE SLXTEENTH 
CENTURY. 

A WAKNIXGE TO YE STUDENT MEN. 



Given at the Alumni Dinner of the Homoeopathic 
Medical Colleg;e at the Hotel Brunswick, New York. 



UP towne there dwelt a student man, 
Tall, straighte.and lithe of limbe, 
And a prettie ser\-ing maide she dwelt 
Right opposite to him. 

One evening faire ye student man 

Was studying aye so harde. 
He saw ye prettie serving maide 

A-walkinge in ye yard. 

Ye student man, he coughed and spat. 
And coughed and spat againe 

Till one would thinke his chest were sore 
With dreadfule, horrid paine. 



92 A BALLAD OF THE SLXTEENTH CENTURY. 



Vet Still ye prettie serving maide 

Walk'd up a-do\vn ye yarde, 
And as she wente she heard ye man 

A-coughing aye so harde. 

At lengthe she raised her shining eyes. 

(Brighte orbs and mightie cleare) 
And shot them at ye student man 

Till he feltc wondrous queere. 

It was ye houre of evening gray, 

And dusk fell on ye towne 
One railroade car had erst gone up, 

\'e other had gone downe.* 

T'was then ye prettie serving maide 

When mirthful to the brim, 
Up raised her taper hnger-tip 

And beckoned unto him. 

Ye student man was tall and straighte, 

And beautiful was he, 
" Awhat it is she wants of me, 

Straightway I mean to see." 

* Street railroads in the sixteenth century is an anachronism 
readily excused by poetic license. 



.-/ BALLAD OF THE SIXTEENTH CENTURY 



93 



He crossed ye railroade in ye street, 

And entered in ye yarde, 
Ye prettie serving maide — she said 

" Why cough you aye so harde ?" 

Ye student man straighte took her hande, 
He looked straighte in her eye — 

" Because I lov^e you aye so much 
Fain would I for you die." 

With that ye student man he hugged 

Her bodie all around, 
And kissed her redde and pouting lips 

With heartie smacking sounde. 

" My prettie serving maide," said he, 
" Now will I make thee mine, 

And you shall feed on strawberries, 
And milke and cake and wine." 

" Now student man," ye maiden said, 
" Wilt make me great and rich ? 

Fain I must tell, for seven long years 
I've gotten bad ye itch." 



94 ^ BALLAD OF THE SLX'TEENTH CENTURY 



Up rose ye gallant student man 
" Now where, oh I tell me true ?" 

She held her hngers to ye light 

And scratched them black and blue. 

Ve student man was all a-wroth, 

A mightie oath swore he ; 
And all ye while ye serving maide 

Did laugh with merrie glee. 

" Oh, naughty serving maide," he said, 
"01 never worse was founde." 

She placed her thumbe upon her nose 
And twirled her fingers rounde. 

Full four weeks time ha\e pass'd, and yet 

Ve student man he laye, 
With sulphur ointment on his limbs. 

A-scratching night and day. 

And all night long ye student man 

Sent up one plaintive cry — 
This was ye burthen of ye songe, 

" Oh ! give me Sulphur high." 



A BALLAD OF THE SLXTEENTH CENTURY. 95- 

Ye doctor came and rubbed him up, 

Ye nurse he rubbed him downe, 
Ye serving maide she came and twirled 

Her fingers rounde and rounde. 

And when ye student man arose, 

All worn to bone and skin. 
Ye student men they laugh to think, 

How Sallie took him in. 

But ever and anon at night, 

When sleeping on ye bed, 
Ye night-mare of ye serving maide 

Comes flitting through his heade. 

And then ye student man begins 

A scratching, aye so hard, 
And think he views ye serving maide 

A walking in ye yarde. 

So student men take heed of this. 

Ye lesson of ye songe ; 
And if she walketh in ye yarde, 

Whv — LET HER WALK ALONGE. 



96 PRESEXT STATC/S OF THE PROFESSION. 



THE PRESENT STATUS OF THE MEDICAL 
PROFESSION. 



Gi\en at the dinner to the N. Y. State Homcuo- 
pathic Medical Society at the St. C.eorge Hotel, 
Brooklyn. September, 1890. 



'T^HE doctors of this era are infiateJ 

"*■ With the morphologic mystery of life, 
And the biologic questions now debated 
Originate most devastating strife. 

We can murder or can culture the bacillus, 
We can shoot the micrococci as they fly ; 

The germs of typhoid fever cannot kill us, 
With the antiseptic lotions we apply. 

Bacteria we know are protoplastic, 

The saprophytes eat carrion like crows, 

While leucocytes with attitude gymnastic 
Assist our wounded surfaces to close. 



PRESENT STATUS OF 'THE PROFESSION. 97 

With laryngoscopic lense% we examine 
Every ulcerated gullet, and we spray 

The i-so-mer-ic pto-maine — pro-py-lam-ine, 
Which frightens inflammations all away. 

With illuminating lanterns in the stomach, 
We criticize each gastric-working cell. 

While electric dissolution of a hummock. 
In the name of Apostoli we can tell. 

If the pulmonary structure be invaded 
By the tubercle-bacillus, then we smile, 

For phagocites will never thus be raided — 
They're conquerors and cannibals the while. 

With Institutes Pasteuric to delight us, 
We smile e'en at hydrophobic pains, 

We select the rabid animal to bite us ; 

Then inject the latest culture in our veins. 

With objectives and with sunlight well reflected 
We can recognize trichinae in our pork, 

Can sterilize our milk as best directed 
By Arnold, of fair Rochester, New York. 



98 PRESENT STATUS OF THE PROFESSION. 



With the tissure of Rolando now to guide us, 
ThrouL,^h cerebral convolutions we can bore, 

Can extirpate whatever is inside us, 

And complacently can live on as before. 

When these scientific laws are universal, 

When the doctors all this knowledj^e can apply 

Then the subject needs at present no rehearsal, 
Mankind upheld by science cannot die. 



MV FIRST INTRODUCTION TO SURGERY. 99 



MY FIRST INTRODUCTION TO SURGERY. 

AX ALLEGORY. 



Given at the Alumni Dinner of the New York 
Homoeopathic Medical College and Hospital, Del- 
monico's, April 20, 1890. 



/'"^NCE in my life long years ago 
^-^ A straggling waif there came 
With tottering gait and movement slow, 

And, whispering, asked my name. 
Though wan and weak, his pallid brow 

A noble lineage bore ; 
His soft sweet eyes — I see them now 

As then in days of yore ! 

" Take me with thee," this outcast said, 

In accents breathing low ; 
"Oh ! let me follow thee," he plead, 

" And where thou goest, go ; 
I'll show the truths now hid from sight, 

Bright pinnacles of fame ; 
I'll smooth the scroll where thou can'st write 

An everlasting name." 



I OO ^1/i' FIRST IXTRODi'CTIOX TO SURGER 1 '. 

" Go not with me," I said. " for now, 

My life has l)ut be,^nin, 
For I am poor, I know not how 

The wheels of time may run. 
Go rather, boy, to those who rule, 

With years and wisdom blest, 
Seek thou the savants of my school 

And they will give thee rest." 

He cried, " I seek them day by day, 

Their succor I implore. 
They listen not, they turn away 

To more congenial lore. 
They say ' my sisters claim their love.' 

Their aims must higher be. 
That they must read, compare and prove, 

They have no place for me.'" 

" They say a therapeutic star 

Has burst upon their sight, 
With rare effulgence shining far 

Into the mists of night — 
That suftering men will all rejoice. 

That steadfast light to see. 
That they must give the truth a voice — 

They have no place for me." 



MV FIRST INTRODUCTION TO SURGER Y. \ Q \ 



Then as he turned his face to mine, 

With timid, tear-stained eyes, 
I saw around a glory shine, 

I scarce could realize. 
I seem'd entranced with mystic charms. 

That twined about my heart. 
I longed to clasp him in my arms 

And bid him ne'er depart. 

But could I then— {ox who was he, 

To link his fale with mine ! 
For I was young and seemed to see 

Success and glory shine 
Along my path as upward I 

Trod on the road to fame — 
I spurned the boy with smothered cry— 

"Go, go, thou hast no name." 

" No name! No name 1" the tingling blood 

Rose surging to his cheek ; 
He trembled not but firmly stood, 

Not pallid now, nor weak, 
I-jut strong by virtue in his soul. 

Which knew no law's command ; 
Then drawing forth a tattered scroll, 

He gave it in mv hand. 



I 02 /VJ- FIRST IN-IRODL'CTION TO SURGERY. 

" Here is my lineage, look and see, 

If I be nameless born ; 
Behold from what antiquity, 

I come, though now forlorn. 
See where the names emblazoned shine, 

From centuries afar ; 
These are my ancestors; yes, mine, 

Renowned in peace and war. 

" My name is SURCxKRV— I kneel 

A suppliant at thy feet ; 
Thy school is new, without my seal 

It cannot be complete. 
Young and neglected, yet there lives 

In me a latent power, 
A grace and dignity which gives 

To medicine its dower. 

" Neglect me not, for by the rood. 

My honor still remains. 
And royal Hippocratic blood 

Runs proudly in my veins. 
See, in the ^-Esculapian fane, 

My father's deeds enrolled 
Which through the centuries have lain 

Undimmed as burnished gold." 



M \ ' FIRS T INTR OD UCTION TO SUR GER V. 1 03 

He ceased, and as the setting sun 

Sheds brightness o'er the west, 
Till all the golden horizon 

In brightness stands confessed; 
So round the boy a halo grew, 

So bright, that e'en the star, 
That told of therapeutics new, 

Seem'd dimmed in distance far. 

I grasped the child, I held him fast, 

" Come weal or woe," I cried, 
" Thou'lt dwell with me while life shall last, 

And when the evening tide. 
This small, eventless life shall sweep 

Out to the open sea, 
Thy glorious path shall upward keep 

In steadfast brilliancy. 

" Thou'lt claim the love and homage then 

Of those who scorn thee now. 
And learned and scientific men 

Before thy face shall bow. 
The status of our school thou'lt raise, 

Thou'lt wipe away the stain. 
That since the Hahnemannic days 

Across its path hath lain." 



. 04 ^1^^' FIRST INTRODUCTION TO SURGERY. 

I ceased, then took his hand in mine, 

And onward through the years 
Of youth, of manhood and dechne; 

Through joys and hopes and fears ; 
With hair grown gray and wrinkhng brow, 

I've held him firm and fast. 
We've walked together then and now, 

And will while life shall last. 

But Surgery still grows and thrives; 

A thousand men to-day 
The first best fruitage of their lives 

Upon his altars lay. 
Aloft upon the mighty wings 

Of progress, born along, 
He waves the bright scalpel and sings 

One loud triumphant song. 

From East and West, from South and North, 

Where Hahnemann is known, 
There Surgery is calling forth 

The talents of his own. 
Who with their energy and strength 

Grow famous through their skill— 
And I have seen my Love at length 

My prophecy fulfill. 



HO W I BE CA ME A SUR GE ON. I O 5 



HOW I BECAME A SURGEON. 



Read at the banquet of the American Institute of 
Homoeopathy at Niagara Falls. 



T N the year eighteen hundred and fifty-three, 
"*■ A few months after I took my degree 
(Which styles me a "regular" H. ]\L D.),-^ 
On the Institute books I enrolled my name. 
Being young in years and unknown to fame, 
(The inference here I hope you'll excuse) ; 
But I borrowed the money and paid my dues, 
Which, as far as my recollection can get, 
I think that I have not repaid as yet. 

Be that as it may, 
Without more delay 
I went to the Institute that very day, 
To hear what the old fellows all had to say. 
Williamson, Hempel and Kirby and Gray, 
Bayard and Joslin, McManus and Small, 
Dake, Hering and Pulte, I heard them all. 

* MediciiKe. Homoeopathic ce Doctor. 



I o6 HOIV I BECA ME A S UK GE ON. 

Throughout that meeting I could not but feel 

That the spirit which ruled those men was — zeal : 

Zeal for the system and zeal for the dose ; 

Zeal for applying sijuilia close ; 

Zeal for the pro\ing of medicine pure ; 

Zeal in proclaiming eacli wonderful cure. 

My friends, 'twas this zeal, riglit be it or wrong, 
That laid the foundation so broad and so strong 
Of this Institute young — as it was in those days — 
Now crowns it with glory and honor and praise. 

Excuse the digression, the moments are fleeting. 
And let me get back tri that Institute meeting. 

My nature's susceptible — very, 1 own it, 

And years and gray haiis suffice not tf) tone it. 

So the zeal of the rest 

Inflated my breast ; 
And as nothing but symptoms and provings would 

stand 
At the meetings in those days, 1 too took a hand ; 
And to show to the members for science my love, 
I asked the committee for something to prove. 



HO IV I BE CA ME A SUR GE ON. I o 7 



After some months' delay, 

On one beautiful day 
(And if I remember aright 'twas in May), 
There came to my office a nice little box, 
With a nice little letter from J, Redman Coxe. 
" Dear Doctor," he wrote, " I enclose you a vial 
" Of wondrous secretion ; pray give it a trial. 
" The bottle is small, in unpacking don't break it ; 
" The hquid is viscid ; before you can take it 
" Heat gently, then wipe off the vial and shake it. 
" Then ))our out exactly ten drops in a spoon, 
" And swallow it quickly, and if very soon 
" (2ueer symptoms develop, please write them to me, 
" As ever of old, your friend, J. R. C. 
" P. S, — If you knew all the trouble I had 
" In procuring a dog undoubtedly mad, 
"You'd drink the solution with infinite pleasure 
" Regarding each drop as a wonderful treasure." 

" (iood gracious !" I said to myself — then a pause — 

A stiff ning sensation surrounded my jaws 

1 seemed to be looking at things in a fog 

And the atmosphere round me smelt strongly of dog. 

And just at that moment I felt that my zeal 

Was ebbing quite rapidly out at my heel. 



1 O 8 HO W I BE CA ME A SUR GE ON. 



But I plucked up my courage and worked at my 

chin, 
Its suppleness seemed as it ever had been, 
And the thought flashed across me 'twere better 

that 1 
Should ask a few doctors this virus to try, 
If bad opisthotonos came with each breath, 
To end in convulsions and coma and death. 
With meekness the pleasure to them I would give. 
Enroll tJwni as martyrs — and /myself live. 

The difficult question was, who should 1 ask 
To enter upon such a dangerous task ? 
Who would assist me to pro\e? was the topic ; 
Who would engage in the act philanthropic ? 
I picked out ten fellows all brim full of knowledge- 
All eager for glory and just out of college. 

Then I made a dilution as Boerickc makes. 
And gave to each vial just /wo hundred shakes, 
Increasing succussion as Jenichen did, 
By pounding the vials on pads made of kid. 
Then I sat down and wrote to each of my friends : 
" Dr. Helmuth's kind greetings" this vial he sends 
" For a proving, and trusts that with infinite care " 
" Each prover will give it a trial most fair." 



HOJF / BECAME A SURGEON. 



09 



" Must take it when fasting," I finally wrote. 
" And as it develops each new symptom note." 
" 'Tis slow in its action, as often appears." 
" For the virus is known to be latent for years," 
" But when the zymosis you once can detect " 
" The pro\'er wi// never know w/iaf to expeef." 
" Be careful in using." In closing I said, 
" No more is obtainable — Doggy is dead." 

My letters were posted and day after day, 
I waited to hear what the pro\ers would say. 
Not a line, not a symptom, howe\er, appeared. 
My reason was staggered ; I really feared 
That though I was acting as sly as a fox, 
That /might be victimized sadly by Coxe. 
The virus most certainly taken they had. 
But nobody yet seem inclined to go mad. 
So 1 musingly muttered, " These provers won't die, 
" T/iev took it — 1 alter my mind — so will /," 
And immediately swallowed a dose of the same 
As my friends who were patiently waiting for fame, 
Yet tortures terrific we had to endure — 
Incubation was slow — zymosis was sure, 

* -.r ' ■;:- -^ -X- 

Remorse consumes my soul to-night. 
When I, in guilt arrayed, 



I I O HOW I BECAME A SURGEON. 

Behold, oh, dreadful, dreadful sight! 
Those wrecks that 1 have made. 

Those lovely youths, so fair and true, 

(ireat gifts of promise had ; 
No matter how they seem to you 

They are all raving mad. 

The briny tears course down my face ; 

The deed, indeed I rue it ; 
And though a melancholy case, 

1 did not mean to do it. 

But listen, my friends, how it acted on me : 
I went into fits, and then — went on a spree. 
And when I reco\ered I scarcely could see. 
From that very moment my pretty left eye 
Close up to the internal canthus did lie. 
And there it remains by day and by night. 
Impairing my beauty and marring my sight. 
Strabismus convergens, if but in one eye, 
Is a source of most constant discomfort, and I. 
Beholding the wreck of those beautiful boys, 
Saw them losing their reason, deprived of the joys 
Of exuberant manhood, and shrieking with pain, 
Said " diDiDi ity (Excuse me) I never again 



now 1 BECAME A SURGEON. 



For friendship, or science, or money or love, 
Will ask your committee for something to prove. 
I did my whole duty, have had quite enough ; 
Give somebody else all \(.)ur poisonous stuff. 

Then, then it was, fellows, I first saw the light, 

And surgery beautiful dawned on my sight. 

I studied its present, I delved in its past. 

And found what my spirit had yearned for, at last. 

Found science and art in proportion so grand, 

The effort of mind with the dexterous hand, 

Combining themselves with such exquisite care, 

And yielding results so remarkably fair, 

That I bowed down in silence and bended my knee, 

And claimed the department belonging to me, 

I saw what I thought was my pathway in life. 

Discarded all provings and stuck to the knife. 

And though I've been fairly successful, 'tis true. 

There's one thing in cutting I never can do. 

I may cut out a bone or extirpate tumors, 

I may amputate limbs and evacuate humors. 

Kill every bacillus and aspirate sacs. 

Apply plaster jackets to carious backs, 

Make beautiful noses by art rhinoplastic. 

Cure pulsating tumors with bandage elastic. 



HOir I BECAME A SURGEON. 



I may stretch every nerve, perform herniotomy 
And advocate still supra-pubic lithotomy, 
I may do all this cutting with ecstacy — but 
/ nc7'cr will dear old acquaintances cut. 
And I hope in return that wherever I be 
No dear old acquaintance will ever cut mc. 



A LETTER FROM ALMA MATER. 



113 



A LETTER FROM ALMA AL\TER. 

" H/EC OLIM MEMINISSE JUVABIT." 



This poem was delivered at the Annual Dinner 
of the Alumni of the New York Homoeopathic 
Medical College, March 13, 1884, at Delmonico's. 



'T^HE lights are out; the ceremonial o'er; 
-*■ The music hush'd ; the long-sought honors 
\\"on ; 
Commencement day of eighteen eighty-four, 

So long expected ; now is almost done. 
Yet here we linger, linger to the last, 
Loth to consign it to the slumbering past. 
Conscious in mind, that then the ties must sever, 
That bind the members of our class together. 
To-morrow's sun will soon illume the skies ; 
To-morrow's world will to its toils arise ; 
And each of us diverging paths will tread. 
Where duty calls, through life's broad fields out- 
spread. 



114 ^ LETTER FROM ALMA MA TER. 

Then as you wander through the devious way?, 
Hriirht with the sunshine of a glorious youth, 
Onward and upward through the fleeting days. 
Searching for light, for honor, and for truth ; 
Thro' storm and cloud; thro' sunshine and thro* 

shade ; 
O'er dark morass and through the verdant glade ; — 
Earnest and brave in that relentless strife. 
Forever waging througli the years of life ; — 
The silver hair, the wrinkled brow 71'/// spe:\k, 
A step less firm, a furrow in the cheek. 
Will tell the stor) (jf departed years. 
Of hopes triumphant, watered with your tears. 

Then as some traveller on the rocky ways 

Of mountain slopes doth toiling upward go. 
Pauses awhile and placidly surveys 

The held, the streams, and woodlands far 
l)clow, — 
So in those hours of rest, when mem'ry steals 

Athwart the senses with a mystic light. 
Which gleaming o'er life's wanderings reveals 

Scenes long forgot, in colors fair and bright, 
Will one arise unbidden to your gaze; 
Your student life, those happy, dear old days, 



A LETTER FROM ALMA MA TER. I I 5 



When burning with th' .^sculapian flame, 
To Ahna Mater hitherward you came ; 
Sat at her feet, obedient to her laws, 
Imbibed her principles, espoused her cause, 
Took from her hand the honors each had won, 
Proud of her name, and grateful as her son. 

If filial love born with our earliest breath 

Holds fast and firm to only cease with death ; 

If sons successful in this world of strife. 

Still offer homage to their source of life ; 

If we believe the fifth commandment true. 

Then let me say a parting word to you. 

Not of myself, too much from week to week 

For months together have you heard me speak 

Of fractured skulls, of lock-jaw, wounds and bites. 

Of omnipresent, everlasting leucocytes. 

How cuts were healed, how broken knee-pans 

wired. 
Till at the last both you and I grew tired. 

From Alma Mater now I come direct. 
Your Alma Mater grave and circumspect, 
Bearing a letter which I now shall read, 
I pray you then in reverence give heed. 



A LETTER FROM ALMA MATER. 



The Letter. 
" As from the mountain pass a limpid stream 
Flows flashing onward in the noontide l)eam ; 
Watering the flowrets on its mossy brink, 
Giving the traveller refreshing drink. 
Sending its waters o'er the verdant fields.. 
Till each in turn luxuriant harvest yields. 
May yet. from foul obstructions far beyond, 
liecomc at length a lazy, turbid pond ; 
So has this latent sorrow year by year 
Dimmed half the brilliancy of my career, 
I'ntil my life grows sluggish and demands 
A fresh momentum at your hearts and hands. 
Kach year my sons, our oftsjjri ng larger grows. 
Till all the world your Alma Mater knows. 
Hut let me question \ou whom 1 have taught. 
Have we th' accommodation that we ought ? 
Look round and see how all my sisters fare. 
Take hei" of Boston, see her mansions there. 
Completely furnished — At Chicago see 
How large their College edifice will be. 
Go to the lovely city of the lake, 
(Observe the efforts there your cousins make, 
While in the settlement of William Fenn, 
Behold the work in progress ; turn you then. 



A LETTER FROM ALMA MA TER. I I 7 

Come to my home — your mother's house and see 

My cause of sorrow, yea of jealousy. 

Where are the beds to place the suffering poor 

WTio daily claim admittance at our door ? 

Where is the museum where each chair may find 

The hundred specimens of varied kind 

To make the impress on the mind more clear, 

And by the eye assist the list'ning ear ? 

Where are the volumes that my sons demand 

For ready reference ever at their hand — 

The works of sages in edition rare ? — 

I ask the questions, — Echo answers, where ! 

These are my griefs. What can your mother do, 

But turn in confidence my sons to you ? 

The ume has come, the moment is at hand, 

Rouse, ye Alumni ! take the foremost stand. 

Let your exertions now united be, 

To raise an edifice complete for me. 

Complete and perfect let the temple stand 

Defying competition in this land. 

A home for Science and of Art a school, 

Where knowledge holds the undisputed rule. 

Where wisdom and experience shall be 

Of lucid teaching proper guarantee, 

And where each student dailv can discern 



I 1 8 A LE TTER FROM ALMA MA TER. 



The wondrous phases of disease, and learn, 

Himself observant by the patient's bed. 

The truth or falsity of what he's read. 

Then, when these wants demanded are su|)plied, 

Your Alma Mater will rest satisfied. 

Proud of her students, prouder of her n.imc. 

Proudest of all in her increasing fame. 

Then will the lustre of her teaching spread, . 

As glorious sunlight bright'ning overhead, 

Dispersing ignorance, proclaiming knowledge 

A uerfect Faculty — a perfect College." 

This ir, the story that 1 had to tell — 

I i)hicc the m.Utcr in your hands, tarewell ! 



AN TIC IP A riON, RE A LIZ A TION, ETC. I I 9 



A 



ANTICIPATION, REALIZATION. AND 
RETROSPECTION. 

It is said that the three great pleasures of life are 
those of anticipation, realization, and retrospec- 
tion. 

I. 

STEADFAST youth beginning life, 
A noble end to gain. 
Fought bravely in this world of strife, 

Endured its pangs and pain, 
And daundess thro' the gliding years, 
Press'd onward thro' the vale of tears. 
Unmindful of its joys and fears, 

Nor sought the prize in vain. 
And oh ! what happiness it brought. 
To reach at last the goal he sought. 

II. 
A man whose hair was fleck' d with gray 

As Autumn boughs with rime, 
Who had not cast his youth away 

Or wasted precious time. 



I20 ANTICIPATION , REALIZATION, ETC. 

Enjoyed with quiet, manly grace 
The l)lessings of the time and [)hice, 
For he had won them in hfe's race, 

And now in manliood's prime 
Was happy in the \ictor\ won, 
His conscience bright, his duty done. 

111. 
With sunlight on his silver hair 

And wistful tender ga/e. 
An old man in his easy chair 

Sits thinking of j)ast days — 
A flash of light comes to his eyes. 
As thoughts of times long past arise, 
When he had fought and won the prize 

And gained his meed of praise ; 
And sweet to him, though near the grave. 
It was to feel he had been braxe. 



OUR NEW MATERIA MEDIC A. 



OUR NEW MATERIA MEDICA. 



Spoken at the Dinner gixen l^y Messrs. Boericke 
cV- Tafel, the well-known publishers, to Dr. T. F. 
Allen, on the completion of his Eiicyclopcedia of 
Malt-ria Medica. The dinner was a magnificent 
one in e\ery respect, the nie^iii was perfect, and the 
arrangement of the floral decorations unique and 
beautiful. The entertainment was gi\en at the 
Hotel Brunswick, New York, December i6, 1880. 



"I 17 HEN Kothen's Sage, imbued with thouglits 

* ^ divine, 

O'er Med'cine's chaos bade the light to shine. 
And through uncertain mists and vague surmise, 
Commanded Truth, unfettered, to arise. 
Fair Science smiled, believing what she saw, 
And wrote, for man's relief, "The Eterxai. 

Law." 
Then, as the highest peaks, and only they. 
Reflect the glory of the rising day. 
And stand refulgent in the morning glow, 
9 



12 2 ''OCR NE IV MA TERIA MEDICAr 

While yet 'tis darkness in the vales below ; 
So at the first, 'twas but a chosen few. 
\\\m) caught the light of Science as it grew, 
And while the world was groping in the shade, 
Enhanced our knowledge by the provings made, 
Prepared each drug, its {properties assigned, 
Denied themselves, to iDeneht mankind. 
Divined the truth, saw with prophetic ken. 
Blessings foreshadowed for their fellow men. 

Ikit as in glory rose the Truth from night. 
The World was flooded with celestial light, 
The law accepted, now, from far and wide. 
Provings fell fast and thick on c\ cry side ; 
Nature's domains, the realms of Art were scoured, 
New minerals dug, and every plant that flr)\\crecl 
Converted to a tincture or a tea. 
Or trituration, as the case might be. 
Was swallowed down, and every symptom noted, 
Till the Materia Medica grew bloated. 

Cold, siher, iron, lead, platina. tin. 
Acids and spices, nitro-glycerin. 
Arsenic, corrosive-sublimate and lime, 
Crotalus horridus— hydrophobic slime. 
The virus of the shining copper-head. 



' O UR NE IV MA TERIA MEDIC A . " I 2 3 



The blood of bugs that crawl about the bed, 
The poison of the adder and the bee, 
Galvanic currents, electricity. 
The leprous crust, pure syphilinum, 
The colored ray, and lac. caninum ; 
Nay, even Luna from the starry skies, 
Unmoved for ages by the lovers' sighs, 
Could not escape the homoeopathic rub. 
Was caught and held by water in a tub, — 
A hundred thousand more with these 
Were brought to help us to dispel disease. 

Who was to judge of this incongruous mass ; 
To tell the earnest worker from the ass ? 
To dig and delve in this exhaustless store ? 
To cull the labors of those gone before? 
Who was the man, at once so wise and rash, 
To say that here is truth and there is trash ? 
To bravely stem this symptomatic flood. 
And while eliminating bad from good. 
Become a mark for factions in the school. 
Termed wise by this, by that man called a fool ? 
He came at last, the thankless task assumed, 
And o'er the work, the midnight oil consumed, 
Before th' enormous mass of symptoms stood. 



124 



'OUR NEW MA TERIA MEDICAr 



Steadfast of purpose, sifting bad from good, 
Arranging provings which unnumbered lay, 
Till through chaotic darkness beamed the da 
To-night we thank him, for his work is done. 
Twelve pondrous tomes proclaim the victory won. 



av 



But, ah 1 my friends, as Time's despotic tide 
Bears us, resistless, toward "the other side," 
And soon shall strand us on an unknown shore, 
While here our places shall be known no more. 
Those wondrous works of charity and love, 
For which while journeying thro' life we stro\ e, 
Free'd from pale jealousy's unhealthy dross, 
From flatterers' smiles and sycophantic gloss 
Shall stand, all purified, to bless the sight 
Of others yearning for the heavenly light, 
Who, bending wearily beneath life's load. 
Fresh courage take from beacons on the road.— 
So the great work, which we to-night proclaim. 
Completely finished, shall enroll the name 
Of Allen 'mongst the mighty of his day. 
Whose labor lives when life has passed away. 



MINUTES OF A MEDICAL MEETING. 1 25 



MINUTES OF A LATE MEDICAL 
MEETINCx. 



Delivered at the Annual Meeting of the Homoe- 
opathic Medical Society of the State of New York, 
February 14, 1882, in the State Capitol at Albany. 



1\ /f V friends I am booked for a poem, I see, 
^^ ^ But what is impossible never can be; 
Em only a surgeon, and cannot lay claim 
To poetical pathos, not even in name. 
I may string out some rhymes — but am not a poet, 
And before you have tinished this seance, you'll 
know it. 

A poem should be a harmonious strain, 
An artistic production of soul and of brain ; 
A music of words, an adornment of thought, 
Embellished by genius and skilfully wrought ; 
To speak to the senses in language so sweet. 
That where the ideal and practical meet, 
Is a dim, indistinct, oft' invisible line, 



126 MINUl^ES OF A MEDICAL MEETING. 

Which even the critics can scarcely define ; 

In fact the old adage in wisdom is laid, 

That a poet is born — he cannot be made, 

And when I was ushered, a babe upon earth, 

No winged Pegasus, stood by at the birth. 

But an old .-Esculapian feUow who said : 

" The baby's a boy — nurse, put him to bed." 

I e'en cannot fancy I hold any part, 

In that newer poetical school of " high art," 

By which all society now is beguiled. 

Whose " utterly utter" exponent is— Wilde, 

Whose " liquidly liquid " idea seems to be, 

A laxness of fibre, and weakness of knee ; 

Whose damsels all dress in a " limped sage-green," 

And " shrinkingly shrink" at the word " crinoline," 

Hut iDending like willows, they droop on their chairs 

And sing to the poet such languishing airs, 

So "lovingly lovely" — "intensely intense." 

" Con-sum-mate" in every departure from sense. 

To look at their postures you'd certainly own, 

That somehow or other, arms, legs and backbone, 

By an aesthetic process, " sublimely sublime," 

Having all been deprived of the phosphate of lime, 

Would bend to the zephyr's most delicate breath, 

And never could stiffen — not even in death. 



MINUTES OF A MEDICAL MEETING. I 27 

Ah ! no : all my life, up to this very clay, 
Has been spent in a practical sort of a way. 
And when I've attempted to worship the muse, 
She would hold out her hand — then smile and 

refuse. 
And motion me back to the probe and the knife, 
Saying, " cultivate these to the end of your life." 
So if you expect any poem from me, 

You'll be disappointed as sure as the D • 

But if you'll permit me to take up your time. 
With professional subjects reduced into rhyme, 
I'll do my endeavor my hearers to please, 
And find myself certainly more at my ease ; 

And indeed I declare. 

If I had '' savoir /aire — " 
A book I might write of great medical wonders, 
Of medical science, and medical blunders. 
Of births and of deaths and remedies good. 
For curing a fever, or cleansing the blood — 
Of poultices, salves, of ointments and blisters, 
Of roots, and of herbs and of curious clysters, 
Of cholagogues, potencies, pains and pathology. 
Relieved here and there with a touch of ne- 
crology ; — 
Of fractures and tumors, both cvstic and bonv — 



I 28 MINUTES OF A MEDICAL ME EI INC. 



Of brains that have softened hke boiled macaroni — 
lUit I cm not, I dare not, for none would beheve. 
Nor could it occur to the mind to conceive 
The wonders of science, the wisdom unfounded, 
]')) which the profession is always surrounded. 

l)Ut just for the nonce. 

Ves, only this once, 

In most imperfect time, 

1 will i)ut into rh\ me, 
Facts told at a meetinj^, where I in the chair 
Endeavored to pacify ever) one theic, 
Allowin^^ each pa])er full time to be read, 
And loudK applauding; what e\ eiy one said. 
This meeting was held in a medical collej.,^e, 
Receivinj.;- that sanction of wisdom and knowledj^^e, 
Which always hanL;s nnstic in classical halls, 
Enshrouding with science its dome and its walls, 
The Doctors sat silent, the minutes approxed. 
And then a Physician arose and he moved. 
That all further business should then be deferred, 
And that clinical cases from members be heard — 
A Scotchman arose — he opened the ball ; — 
He said that his patient could not sleep at all. 
Till according to Blister, whose judgment was keen. 
He gave her the " scyo/k/" of fresh Atropine, 



MINUTES OF A MEDICAL MEETING. 



129 



Which up to the present had done her some good, 
Which might end in a cure — He hoped that it 
would. 

The Blond then rose — a member new 

Now listen to the blast he blew. 
A gentleman came to consult him one day, 
A curious swelling he had — by the way. 
It was stony and hard — yet slighth" elastic. 
And filled up the triangle known as digastic ; 
It appeared not malignant — indeed it was bland 
And looked very like an hypertrophied gland. 
The Doctor prescribed — things came to their worst, 
The hard, stony swelling, first softened, then burst. 
The patient appeared at the Doctor's next mora, 
And brought in his hand quite a large grain of corn. 
Which of course would account for the swelling so 

stony, 
It having slipped into the Ductus Wliartoni. 
This phenomenal case was peculiar indeed, 
But was outdone in toto by great Dr. Bleed, 
Wlio, with sweet intonation and innocent face, 
Related at length this most curious case*: 

A clever young fellow, a student of law. 

Had an indolent swelling come under his jaw. 



130 MINUTES OF A MEDICAL MEETING 



He took many drugs, still larger it grew, 
Till it covered the jaw and the clavicle too. 
And though it received every care and attention. 
It much interfered with the act of prehension. 
The pain was so great the man became furious. 
But relief came at last, when c. m. Merc inius 
Arrested the sweating and slacken'd the thirst. 
Then softened the swelling, which very soon burst ; 
But instead of "the corn," oh, strange to behold. 
This tumor discharged t|uite a lump of pure gold. 
Which a dentist had dropp'd in the gum while 

essaying 
To plug up a molar, long since decaying. 
This morsel of gold, like an amceboid cell. 
Worked its way to the surface ; how, no one could 

tell, 
Ikit it shows how Dame Nature may sometimes 

grow bold, 
Like most other women, and throw away gold. 
The patient's delight can't be told in this stanza. 
For he fancied his jaw had become a bonanza. 

Dr. Seton desired the members to know 

A case which occurred to ///;;/ five years ago. 

We all are aware where the nose and it's bridge is, 



MINUTES OF A MEDICAL MEETING. 13I 

Can locate the superciliary ridges, 

Near the internal angle of which is a curve 

Containing the supra-orbital nerve ; 

Now, this was the seat of such terrible pain, 

That the patient scarcely could bear it. 

And as it developed again and again, 

He would clutch at his hair and would tear it. 

No pleasure he had, for his symptoms would mar 

all, 
And the Doctor supposed it neuralgia catarrhal, 
But naught that he gave had the slightest effect 
Till after a time he began to suspect, 

As the eye lid swelled high 

And shut up the eye. 
That an abscess was forming in tissue close by. 
A poultice was ordered and neatly applied. 
The heat and the swelling began to subside. 
And a little blue spot which is well known to us. 
Indicative of the formation of pus. 
Appeared in the centre and slowly advanced. 
The abscess had pointed — and therefore was lanced. 

The pus dribbled slowly — the cut was enlarged. 
When a lot, quite enormous, of matter discharged 
This occasioned the Doctor the greatest delight. 



132 MINUTES OF A MEDICAL MEE 'IING. 

Supposing, of course, that the thing was all right : 
Hut week after week, and day after day, 
The jjatient returned and continued to say 
That pus still was forming, the sore would not heal. 
And that " out of patience he really did feel, 
Tliat he'd suffered so long, so much pain had en- 
dured, 
That by this time he thought he ought to be cured." 
The Doctor at this was indeed disconcerted. 
So he drew out his proi^e, and it he inserted, 
And found there a fistula, old and continuous. 
Three or four inches in length and quite sinuous. 
He was ))uzzled and \e.\cd, 
And sorely perplexed, 
For he didn't quite know what he ought to do next, 
Hut he put on at once a most nonchalant air, 

Which was dignified, easy and placid. 
And ordered the sinus injected with care, 

With a lotion of carbolic acid. 
The patient, a fortnight, this course did pursue. 
But came back disgusted — the wash would not do; 
To the druggist the Doctor accordingly went. 
And brought back a large laminaria tent. 
Which he thrust in the sinus to keep it dilated, — 
But more irritation and pain he created. 



MINUTES OF A MEDICAL MEETING. 1 33 

The Doctor again what to do could not think, 
But ordered Hydrastis and Sulphate of Zinc, 

But no, 

No go, 

/;/ statu quo. 
The sinus remained, the matter would flow, 
Till finally thinking the cure he might urge on. 
He took him to see and consult with a surgeon, 
Who told him of course, if his eye he would save, 
To pluck up his courage, be manly and brave, 
And have the thing cut out at once by the knife, 
Or else be disfigured the rest of his life. 
Now, this filled the patient with horror and dread. 
So he came to the Doctor and finally said 
That he would not submit — He'd rather be dead; 
The Doctor, in rage, then cried " Stand on your 

HEAD." 

Home, home, ran the patient, he jumped on his 

bed— 
For twenty-five minutes he stood on his head, 
And Thunder : and Mars \ how the opening bled. 
But, from that very moment, the thing near his nose 
Discharged much less matter, began soon to close, 
And now not a vestige of scar does appear. 
To show where that fistula was. Ain't it queer ? 



134 MINUTES OF A MEDICAL MEETLXG. 

This story of Seton's was told very well, 

And the laugh at the end quite vociferous, 
When Blister declared he had one to excel 
Bleed's story of pus so auriferous. 

Now, we all were aware 

Of Blister's great care, 
Of his foresight and cautious sagacity. 

And e'en when Bleed told 

Of discharges of gold, 
Not a member could doubt his veracity. 

So listen, my friends, 

Though belief has its ends. 
The details of the case please to follow, 

And without more delay 

1 am sui"c \ ou will say, 
The yarn is tremendous to swallow. 
The patient, a girl, modest, pretty and bright, 
Received, unexpected, a horrible fright. 
Hvsterics came on — took a curious shape, 
She in agony crying she could not escape 
From balls that ran up from her feet to her head. 
Then left her abruptly — apparently dead. 

[You've all of you read Edgar Poe where he tells, 
In his curious metre, of various bells ; 



MINUTES OF A MEDICAL MEETING. I35 



If the following- lines his poem recalls, 
Put an a for an <", thus making bflls bcrlls] : 
Hear the story of the balls — curious balls, 
What a world of suffering their memory recalls, 
For the patient, sleeping soundly in the night, 
Would start, her eyes all gleaming. 
And continue loudly screaming, 
In terror and affright. 
And her cries, cries, cries. 
With red and streaming eyes. 
Were the loudest of exclamatory calls — 
Namely Balls, Balls, Balls, Balls, 
Balls, Balls, Balls, 
Oh ! the running and the jumping of the Balls. 

Oh, listen how she squalls, 
Piercing sc[ualls. 
The burthen of the story is the bounding of the 
balls. 
In the witching time of night, 
How she screams out in affright 
If you touch her on the feet — 
She can not, will not eat, 
And can only shriek, shriek, shriek, 
Out of tune, 



136 MJ.WTES OF A MEDICAL MEETING. 



In a clamorous appealing to the mercy of the Doctor, 
In a mad expostulation to the balls which so have 
shocked her. 
Leaping higher, higher, higher, 
With some desperate desire. 
And praying to expire, 
That death would be a boon. 
And she's wet, wet, wet. 
With a sour, dripping sweat, 
Till she drops into a swoon. 

Oh ! the balls, balls, balls, balls, 

Balls, balls, balls. 
The racing and the running of the balls. 



PROLOGUE FOR NE IV MEDICAL JOURNAL. I 3 7 



PROLOGUE FOR A NEW MEDICAL 

JOURNAL, June 6, 1883. 

T X times of old, when Physic yet was young, 
^ When Galen taught and Paracelsus sung, 
When incantations, amulets and charms, 
Dispell'd diseases with their dire alarms ; 
When sages wrote with 5/v/<:?-ographic pen 
On waxen tablets for the good of men. 
Or in the temple to a chosen band 
Imparted precept, wisdom and command. 
Which garbled by the fancy of each sage, 
(^irew more uncertain with advancing age. 
Then few could learn th' /Esculapian art. 
And fewer still the magic lore impart. 
Then Priest and Alchemist in fraud secure. 
Proclaimed unblushingly each wondrous cure. 
Invoked St. Agatha, if breasts inflamed. 
With Lapis Sanguinis the blood stream tamed 
On barren women {inter jnajninas) laid. 
The potent pills from reeking mandrake made, 
Till True and False by superstition led, 
10 



1^8 PR OLOCl 'E FOR NE If MEDIC A L JO URN A L. 

By bold assumption, and by avarice fed, 

Curtailed the art of each proportion fair, 

Truth holding small, Deceit the larger share. 

That iron age of darkness now has pass'd 

And scientific truth prevails at last. 

The humors now '' pituiia " and " /'//<•," 

And " l)/oo(f and '' c/io/rr," gotten out of chyle. 

No more compel diseases in their train. 

Or indicate the cause of every pain, 

Explain no more each bad and good sensation. 

Relieved alone by violent purgation. 

The "Ani?na'' of Stahl. \'an Helmont's trust, 

And Boerhaiive's theories, are damp with must. 

The golden apples, once so fair and bright 

Arc turned to ashes by our modern light. 

While day by day the new discoveries rise. 

And shine resplendent in our dazzled eyes. 

Till overwhelmed the student stands aghast 

Each rexelalion crowding on the last. 

And followed still by others thick and fast, — 

Till at the present, no one mind can span, 

A single science in the life of man. 

Now all our atmosphere is fill'd with germs 
Which careful research everv dav confirms. 



PROLOGUE FOR NE W MEDICAL JOURNAL. I 39 



(Though Koch and Spina quarrel over terms.) 

The microscope reveals a thousand cells 

Which each a story undisputed tells: 

This is a cancer, that a simple growth, 

And here a structure which pertains to both 

This epithelium is prostatic, that 

Is nothing but disorganizing fat. 

The wandering leucocytes, thro' vessels' walls. 

Pass in and out, whenever nature calls ; 

Bacilli, rod-shaped, spindle-shaped and round, 

In earth, in water and in air abound ; 

While every hour the chemist's art unveils. 

Some new discovery, which the old curtails. 

We learn that li\ing matter only lasts 

So long as epithelial bioplasts 

Retain their health and vigor, if they fade 

The metamorphosis is retrograde, 

A protoplasm of a less degree, 

Forms basis for a higher entity. — 

And so ad infinituiii ever come 

Mysterious facts to strike the student dumb. 

How can the mental faculties keep pace 
With science striving ever in the race? 
How, as the mighty overwhelming tide 



I 4 O PROLOGUE FOR NE U ' MEDIC A L JO URN A L . 

Of truth rolls onward, spreading far and wide, 

Can we a portion of the good select. 

Apply the practical, the false reject ? 

The question given, hark ! the answer flies 

And periodic literature replies 

" Let those few earnest, energetic men," 

" By nature qualified to wield the pen " 

"Join heart and hand ; unfold the pure and true, 

And this the Leader will essay to do. 

Nor in a boastful arrogance of tone, 

Eschewing all opinions save its own. 

Nor with a stubborn and vainglorious pride 

The honest work of other men deride ; 

Nor yet indulging in disgusting cant 

Which turns an PMitor to sycophant ; 

But with a modest zeal and temper fair 

With firmness, justice, truthfulness and care 

Cull fresh the buds of knowledge as they bloom 

From master minds; then as a sweet perfume 

Can oft recall past efforts which have lain 

Long crushed and dormant into life again, 

So may the Leader by a line surprise 

Old, desultory thoughts and crystallize 

The atoms worthless to a gem so bright 

That all mankind mav revel in the light, 



PROLOG UE FOR NE IV ME DIG A L JO URN A L. 1 4 1 



Which streaming through the vista of the past, 

May give the way-worn toiler hope at last, 

Strengthen his steps ; enable him to see. 

And manfully complete life's destiny. 

E'en through the lapse of years could this be done, 

The Leader would conceive the victory won, 

And claim a place of honor mid the hosts 

Of honest rivals, which the country boasts, 

Giving to each, the boon itself demands, 

A fair examination at your hands. 

And as the bread upon the waters cast, 

In time indefinite returns at last, 

So now the Leader, launched upon the tide. 

With rocky shoals beset on every side. 

May yet 'tis hoped at not a distant day 

By good accomplished thus the venture pay. 

The motto reads " To truth itself be true," 

'Tis ours no more, the page belongs to you. 



/O. 



